Ann Widdecombe and the Brexit Party was bad enough – then Ant and Dec went and ruined my whole week

So many abominations to discuss, as people put spikes in trees to discourage birds and ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ invades the self-service tills

So much of what is going on at the moment seems unfathomable to me. Take the terrifying rise of Nigel Farage’s Brexit Party with its sideshow return of the faux-cuddly Ann Widdecombe, who is threatening to rise once more from the political ashes whilst also performing her one woman show, Strictly Ann, across the country.

Personally I reckon there is a fresh circle of hell which comprises simply of the interval-bar clientele for any one of these performances. Imagine being stuck with that crowd. Imagine the whiff of sauvignon blanc and smugness, the heady mix of polyester blouses combined with a hint of vitriol. I tell you – that’s one lavatory queue that would have me running for the hills.

But the Brexit Party is just one of many abominations I’m struggling to get my head around this week; another is the hideous practice of putting spikes in residential trees to discourage birds from crapping on cars.

Yup, that’s right – there are people in this country who are studding their trees with vicious metal spikes to protect their precious motors from a bit of plop. Listen, I understand that birds can’t roost on certain structures as their droppings can corrode buildings, but trees are a natural habitat for wildlife and anyone who values their car’s cleanliness over nature really needs a very strict talking to. Get a damp cloth, wipe it off, or park your car somewhere else.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough to have a girl hyperventilating into a brown paper bag, there’s the recent horror of the Ant and Dec talking self-service tills at M&S, which have temporarily turned shopping into a horrific dystopian Beadle’s About.

OK, for starters I already struggle with self-service tills because I have some spooky Carrie-like inability to “scan my items”. I’ve thought about this a lot because I’m a nightmare in a busy rush hour and people think I’m mucking about on purpose. I promise I’m not – I think the problem lies in the fact I carry too much “temper static” around with me and this interferes with the analogue signal generated by the reflected light required to decode the digits on my item.

I’m sure this temper static is pretty common in women of my age. I find it also manifests itself in small and slightly pleasurable electric shocks when I touch the metal handrails of a certain well-known department store in Sloane Square (I get my kicks where I can these days). However, my uselessness at the self- service till is a complete pain – no matter how I present my goods, the scanner refuses to recognise my codes.

For example, say I’ve got a tub of coleslaw (I call it “crack cabbage” – I’ve got a bit of a habit), I might start the process by casually waving the item under the little red light, ever so nonchalantly, as if to catch it off guard. When that doesn’t work I usually resort to shaking the thing aggressively, muttering, “come on you thick t***, just work you f***ing imbecile” trying to bully it into submission.

At other times when I’m not in a hurry, I will proffer my shopping like a sugar cube under the nose of a shy pony, ever so gently like a fully trained till-whisperer. “Look, see, you know what this is don’t you, so why don’t you make that nice beeping noise for mummy?”.

But no, nine times out of 10 I have to call for an assistant and explain though my tears, that “I caaaan’t do it”, whereupon, because they don’t produce temper static from every pore, they proceed to whisk my items into the bagging area, like a magic trick whilst I stand back in awe.

So forgive me for saying that the self- service till is a traumatic experience at the best of times, and then imagine the sweaty mess I got into when trying to scan a basket of tea time treats the other evening, only for Ant and Dec to start yelling at me to scan my loyalty card. Honestly I was so shocked I nearly dropped my special offer Chardonnay.

Meanwhile on the till next door another shopper was being told to place her items in the bagging area by Amanda Holden, and further down the line Alesha Dixon is chirruping away.

When I took to Twitter to register my alarm, I was told that this is not a new thing: last year Poundland had the voice of Elvis encouraging their shoppers from beyond the grave and, of course, those of us who travel by Virgin trains got bored yonks ago of the talking toilet reminding us not to flush our ex-boyfriend’s jumper down the lav.

Anyway, about those Marks talking tills. Apparently this Britain’s Got Talent (sponsored by M&S) promotion will continue for the duration of the current series. Good to know. I’ve immediately made a note in my diary (yup, still got a Filofax, kids) because I don’t know about you, but I shall be avoiding M&S self-service tills until after 3 June.