IF EVER a phrase captured the zeitgeist it is this: Supermarket Sweep is back on our television screens.

Talk about a timely return, what with Operation Yellowhammer laid bare in recent days and the now infamous Police Scotland infographic urging us all to have an emergency "grab bag" packed and close to hand should unspecified disaster strike.

You would be forgiven for mistaking the newly revived game show for a public information film portending Brexit mayhem as contestants ran amok through the supermarket aisles like headless chickens, piling their trollies high with canned goods and toiletries.

If you haven't seen it yet, think Viggo Mortensen in The Road but with a glossier, neon-hued aesthetic and inexplicable cameos from Love Island reality stars.

To be fair, I don't imagine this was quite the vibe that the commissioning bods at ITV2 had in mind when Supermarket Sweep was resurrected last week after a 12-year hiatus.

The late Dale Winton hosted the original series during its 1990s heyday – a beloved daytime staple for lecture-dodging students – until the show was culled in 2001. There came a fleeting sojourn in 2007 before it again vanished from the airwaves.

Its 2019 reboot has Rylan Clark-Neal at the helm, a man who, like his predecessor Winton, is a master in the art of T&T: that's teeth and tan.

Clark-Neal, who first pricked the public consciousness as a tear-stained, national laughingstock when he was an X Factor contestant in 2012, is broadcasting's latest golden boy.

His many hats include hosting the Saturday afternoon slot on Radio 2, co-presenting Strictly Come Dancing's spin-off show, It Takes Two, with Zoe Ball and being set to front a revival of another 1990s cult favourite, Ready Steady Cook, early next year.

I have a bit of a soft spot for Clark-Neal. Seven years ago, he was pegged as another-flash-in-the-pan-reality-TV-star-famous-for-being-famous. Deliciously, he's the one enjoying the last laugh. Revenge is a dish best served with a side of how-do-you-like-me-now?

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As for Supermarket Sweep, you can't beat a bit of nineties-themed nostalgia to salve the nation's frayed nerves. Ditto the upcoming renaissance of Ready Steady Cook.

Both their original runs hark back to simpler times when the Spice Girls clomped about in platform trainers, Damien Hirst made a small fortune from bovine-themed art, and New Labour promised that things could only get better. What jolly japes.

Off the sauce

STAYING with the trope of rose-tinted specs and halcyon days, when did condiments become so convoluted? It used to be that sauce came in two varieties: red and brown. Perhaps a dollop of salad cream if you were feeling fancy.

According to new figures, sales of ketchup and salad cream have stagnated, with brown sauce in decline as our taste buds crave exotic fare such as spicy peri-peri mayonnaise and sriracha.

Brown sauce has long been an unofficial indicator of the dividing line between east and west within the central belt. Picture a frontier with Harthill as the beginning of salt and vinegar territory and Armadale as the last chance saloon for salt and sauce on your chips.

As a former West Lothian gal now living in the wilds of Lanarkshire, I was delighted and amazed to spot a bottle of brown sauce in my local chip shop. What I wasn't prepared for was the reaction when I asked for it.

A hush fell over the queue. All eyes were on me. Tumbleweed. A few stifled sniggers. I could see my husband stealthily sidling towards the door. I half expected a banjo player to strike up. Moving forward I shall discreetly slather my fish supper with brown sauce in the privacy of my own home.

Nightcrawler

FORGET counting sheep to drift off to sleep when insomnia strikes. Apparently, folk are more likely to be found propped up in bed while indulging in a spot of nocturnal retail therapy.

John Lewis reports a 23% rise in spending by its customers during the wee hours of the night. The latest figures show that one in 15 of all online purchases were made between midnight and 6am.

I would be curious to discover how many of these transactions took place while under the influence of alcohol. Years ago, when QVC was all the rage, the partner of a friend bought a set of steak knives as he sat bleary-eyed, watching the home shopping channel, after an evening down the pub.

His purchase was delivered soon afterwards. Swiftly followed by another set of the same knives. It was only when he saw the credit card still sitting by the phone that the penny dropped: he had bought the same thing on successive weekends and completely forgotten.

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Which certainly puts a fresh twist on the concept of drunk dialling. Although that pales next to another friend who unwittingly kept adding the same book to her online shopping basket. She's a big fan of Margaret Atwood but would readily admit that no one needs 23 copies.