It’s been the most gorgeous day out there, today and all we’ve done is drive to another supermarket and straight back home again. We know, from local social media groups, that there are far too many people out and about on foot or bike, and someone was complaining about the number of cars on the roads, as well.

Confusion still reigns over where you can go, exactly how far and for how long, but it’s just so lovely to be out! We didn’t want to come back so soon, but we are trying our best to get it right. Perhaps we will factor in a brisk walk around the block later on, when, hopefully, most people will be back indoors.

There are some very silly and irritating comments on social media at the moment, along the lines of: “When I was out on my walk today, I noticed lots of people in my local park. Why aren’t they all staying in?!” Yes, how very dare they be out the same time as you! And in “your” park, too!  The nerve!  Don’t they know there’s a killer virus doing the rounds?!

We see large groups of people walking or jogging together and we don’t believe they can all be related and/or living in the same house.  Short of following them home, though, I don’t see what we can do about it.

After queuing for so long yesterday, we tried going out to the supermarket at lunchtime, today. I reckoned most people would be sitting down to their traditional Sunday roast, and it seemed I was right: I walked straight in, although I had to do the shopping by myself, as all the supermarkets are now admitting only one member of a family in at a time.

Consequently, it was nice and quiet in there, and I was able to get everything on my list without any hassle. I got a tad frustrated when confronted with the coffee section, though. My knowledge is limited to a jar of instant for when any caffeine-loving friends come round, but the OH wanted ground coffee and, as a non-coffee drinker myself, I was baffled by the number of brands, types of strengths and daft descriptions on the packets: hints of plum, caramel and aardvark, anybody? No, just plain old coffee flavour will do, ta. I reckon I spent more time in that one section than in the rest put together.

There was still no flour to be seen, although the nice girl at the checkout said she had spotted it this morning, adding that she needed some as well. When I said she should be allowed to have first dibs, being staff, she said it didn’t quite work like that, but they do get a discount, of course.

When we left, we passed a small housing estate next door, and noticed two women – neighbours – sitting on opposite walls, chatting; a lot less than six feet away from each other. Both were puffing on cigarettes and an empty shopping trolley belonging to the supermarket we had just visited was parked up alongside one of the houses. We spotted a “For Sale” sign a little further along, and the OH remarked that, if we were house-hunting in the area, the delightful visage of “two women with trolley” would have been enough to put us off. I added that, in this instance, “Curb appeal” would be a much more appropriate term than “Kerb appeal.”

It reminded me of the time when, in my heady singleton pre-OH days, I was flat-hunting and took along my surveyor friend. We drove up to the block concerned, took one look at the outside, and my friend said, “I don’t like the thought of you living here. In fact, let’s not even bother going inside.” I had to agree with him, so I rang the estate agent and made some feeble excuse. It may have been the flat of my dreams, but the agent seemed resigned to my refusal to view it, leading me to suspect I wasn’t the first person to have done so. (I later found out the block had a bit of a rough reputation, so I wasn’t sorry I’d let that one go.)

We used the dashcam again today, having witnessed so many idiotic drivers and cyclists on our trip out yesterday. I forgot that it was on, so, when the OH was playing it back later, all we could hear was my voice droning on about extremely trivial matters while, in the background, he was interjecting with: “Mmmmm…” at regular intervals. He’s had years of practise, bless him; though I really should learn to keep my gob shut when he’s trying to concentrate.  I need him to tell me to shut up.  Something I feel sure he’s going to relish.

This brings back memories of an ex-colleague from a very long time ago, who used to beg me to tell her to shut up when she was going on and on and on and was sick of the sound of her own voice. I thought it was far too rude to do so at the time, though I now understand what she meant.

At least I didn’t have cause to break out into our favourite little road-rage ditty; the one I referred to in yesterday’s blog…





Author: Hampton Caught

The rants and ramblings of an ex Deputy Fiction Editor of Woman's Weekly magazine.

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