THERE are enough tough decisions to be taken in supermarkets.

Do I go for the man-sized trolley or the girlie medium-sized version, or perhaps do I risk incurring the wrath of fellow customers by trying to take 11 items through the express till?

More importantly, should I ask a very keen member of staff where I can find a particular item in the store?

It shouldn't be a problem.

If, like me, you can't face the prospect of spending half an hour weaving in and out of aisles in the vain search for that last item on the list, the first port of call is the nearest member of staff, who will direct you to the right aisle.

Unless you choose The Keenest Person On Earth as I did the other day.

"Could you tell me where I could find bicarbonate of soda please?" I asked a uniformed middle-aged lady. She smiled and pointed a finger in the air as if she was giving me out LBW at cricket. She obviously knew where it was.

Then she did something I was not expecting. She walked purposefully away from me.

She was fully 20 yards away when I realised I had to make that tough decision.

Did she want me to follow her?

Or did she want me to stay put and wait until she returned clutching my missing item?

If I was at work, this would have been one of at least 100 decisions to make in my busy day and it would have been made before she had got five yards.

But I was in a supermarket, I was off duty. And I was wearing a creased T-shirt and jeans and my hair looked like a crop circle created by a team of blindfolded monkeys.

So I dithered. Then I set off.

Having chosen the man-sized trolley - by now crammed with food - it took me a few seconds to build up a head of steam to follow the woman as she quickly disappeared into the distance.

By the time she was back in my sights, I was the retail superstore equivalent of a runaway train with no brakes heading down a steep hill.

Families were diving out of the way of the marauding trolley and brave men were throwing themselves in front of children, only to be mown down by the unstoppable pile of groceries.

Eventually, I saw the woman standing triumphantly at the end of an aisle with a small container of bicarb in her hand.

But I shall never forget the look on her face as the trolley flew past her and she looked into my frightened eyes as I desperately tried to brake before hitting the large pyramid of discounted wine in aisle 36...