By the time I had got the fruit, veg, fish, bread and meat that I needed for the next couple of days, I was struggling to carry it the few hundred yards back to the car.
It's probably partly having the tight narrow blood-stopping handles of carrier bags that made it such hard work. If I'm going to do this more often I must invest in a proper granny-bag.
There were lots of people in the village and I noticed that it was always me who gave way, stood aside, jumped into the road, pressed myself into shop windows, to make way for everyone else. If I didn't, would I just get battered?
From the library I borrowed The Other Boleyn Girl (I asked the librarian if they had the first one but she just looked at me blankly. As you are probably doing now.) Lots of people seem to be reading this book and others by Philippa Gregory. I haven't really done historical fiction since my youth and, no, not Georgette Heyer. What was her name? Um, it'll come to me. Mary Stewart, that's it. Or was she the Queen? * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Took Younger Son to the surgery yesterday to have his dressing changed. He told me proudly that the nurse said it was the biggest one she'd ever seen. (You can add your own punchline; we did.)
5 comments:
Oh, lucky you. I had to go into town this morning - no local village shopping here, I'm afraid. I only had to make three or four calls, but what a gauntlet had to run.
At first, I thought that everyone was trying to get the Saturday shop done before Swindon Town were playing. Wrong. They played the night before - in Chester.
Then light dawned. It's the last shopping Saturday before school restarts. So all the parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and affiliated family were taking the kids to town for the last minute school stuff.
It was manic. Unsupervised children were forming rugby scrums in various stores, others were heaving all manner of items off the shelves to untuneful cries of, "I want this one", grown ups were responding with, "you've got one / you don't need one / I'm not paying that much" etc, etc.
I eventually became invisible as the onrushing tide of soon-to-be-relieved-of-their-money parents and their free-spending offspring threatened to engulf me. Solace was only found on returning to the car park and the sanctuary of a metal box on wheels.
A bit of music on the way home proved beyond doubt that music soothes the savage beast (or is it breast?) - my pumping heart wanted to scream out, "Saturday shopping in town - no thanks."
So it isn't just me who becomes invisible to people in the street/shopping mall/shops?
I must add that to my how to be invisible post!!!
young teenage girls get me steaming mad, I want to karate chop their stupid linked arms!
What Pete does not mention is there was no way on God's dear Earth he'd have got me to accompnay him on my scooter around twon - I KNEW what it would be like! I warned him. But his visit was truly necessary. In fact, I'm not sure how we'd have finished buying Grandson's birthday present if Pete had actually had his planned op yesterday!
Shirleen wants to karate chop the linked-arms girls. I just want to yell at those girls who insist on walking with their arms folded to either cover up their midriff or to keep warm in sub zero temperatures.
I'm sure if I tried it I would just lose my balance and fall over!
I feel I would enjoy Philippa Gregory's historical fiction but am not sure if it is just that she gets good front covers on her paperbacks.
I loved Kate Mosse's Labyrinth and that couldn't have been more historical. I think it's a good genre if there is plenty of human emotion in it that is common to all centuries.
Overdo the facts, dates and figures and you've lost me. If I see a timeline in a children's novel (for work), I don't know whether it's meant to be fiction or a reference book! I want entertainment not education when I read for relaxation. Make the learning subtle. Almost subliminal.
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