Excuse the naughty word in the title. It’s starting to get to me. To a lot of people, of course. Yesterday, on social media, a woman was saying how much she envied people with partners – even if they snore, fart and drop food down their jumpers. Bless her. Mine does all of those things and more but, then again, so do I. I’m grateful for his company. (Ask me again in a month’s time.)
We had a little (necessary) trip to our local chemist today. We could have walked there, for some much-needed exercise, but took the car instead, because the weather wasn’t behaving itself. The queue outside the chemist was short and we waited no more than five minutes. I was impressed with their efficiency and organisation. A man wearing gloves stood by the door to let us all in and out and, once inside, everyone was gowned, masked and gloved up to the hilt. I collected my prescription and that of a neighbour who can’t get out atm and returned to the car.
On impulse, I suggested a quick walk around the block. There were very few people about. Everywhere was eerily silent, apart from a man and his small daughter attempting to have a conversation with someone through the closed window of a small cottage. The nearby pub, reputed to be one of the oldest in the country, was, of course, closed. The only thing stirring was the weather vane in the gentle breeze.
By the way – apparently, although most crimes are unsurprisingly down atm, there has been a rise in domestic abuse, which police are attributing to the pubs being shut. Not sure what to think about that. Obviously, it’s not quite so simple in some cases. A long-married friend once said to me: “Nobody ever really knows what goes on behind closed doors.” I’ve never forgotten it. So, in the current climate, please don’t just check up on your single friends to see how they’re coping; keep in touch with the married/co-habiting ones as well.
We carried on walking down a road we don’t usually venture into, which has the appearance of a country lane rather than a suburban street, admiring the tiny pretty terrace cottages and, further along, the much bigger manor house and a handful of other grand-looking places. Tucked away at the far end is one that has a “Sold” sign outside. It has a huge garden attached and I was instantly smitten. I looked it up online as soon as we got home. “Price on application” it read. Bugger it. Way out of our league, then, even if it had still been available.
The housing market has obviously collapsed for the time being, in any case. Neighbours who had sold their house have had to put a hold on proceedings for a while. Luckily, they hadn’t got to the stage of signing anything, but they had found buyers for their place and had fallen in love with a gorgeous property elsewhere. Surveys had been done on both houses. Everything packed up and ready to go. So frustrating for all concerned.
This evening, we made soup from the leftovers of our roast chicken yesterday and enjoyed stewed rhubarb fresh from our neighbours’ allotment down the road. Yes, the very same ones who had planned on moving. So we might be all right for more home-grown goodies for a little while yet…