Through the barricades...

-
So as another day of recuperation dawned bright and early yesterday, I suddenly realised that my breathing wasn't akin to an acting extra on Jaws (watched this again at the weekend...just how much shallow breathing is acceptable?)  Perhaps, just perhaps, I was getting better...

As yesterday wore on at Binland, I started to feel like a butterfly, emerging from its chrysalis and unfolding to reveal its full beauty.  OK.  Let's be honest, it was more like the slimy creature coming out of John Hurt's stomach in Alien, but it was a real improvement on the last ten days, that's for sure.

The trouble with feeling better, is that you feel you are now well, which as we all know, couldn't be further from the truth.  A short sojourn into town for vacuum cleaner bags (it's just one long glamour-fest in my shoes) and it was necessary to stop at the cafe for a cup of tea and a piece of fortifying Bakewell Tart.  Suitably revived, I then headed off to the hell which you might know as Waitrose, where I shuffled round slowly picking things off the shelves.  I must confess to spending a most pleasant five minutes at the 'Special Buy' section, where all the unsold expensive Christmas tat resided.  It took some doing persuading myself that a pack of four coffee frothers wasn't really necessary, but, I digress..  

Some years ago, I came to the conclusion that Waitrose is merely a meeting place for 'women of a certain age'.  This wouldn't be my age, you understand, but a couple of decades older.  Small groups of round, elderly ladies standing in the middle of the aisle chatting, with no thought as to who might need to get past them.  There's usually a barricade of brightly coloured wheeled baskets parked up next to them like a row of floral Rottweilers, while they discuss one of the following:

1. Who died over Christmas
2. Who might die now it's getting colder
3. Ethel Rogers' varicose veins
4. The price of everything (pre-war, post-war and future)
5. Parking (most of them walk into town so not relevant, but always worth a grumble or two)

So.  There I am, hyper ventilating with a basket of Big Soup (the husband's lunch of choice), with a formidable wall of formaldehyde and support stockings in my way.

'Excuse me, ladies,' I panted, 'could I just get through?'  

Nothing.  They just carried on regardless, and not wanting to interrupt their lovely chat regarding Florrie who had gone away for Christmas and not told the newspaper boy, I gently squeezed past the ringleader (chest like a bolster and legs like Red Rum) and made  my apologies.

Then our eyes met.  'No need to push past me', she said.  'That's the trouble with you youngsters' (this was the cue for general nodding and mm-mmming), 'you're always in such a hurry'.

Life....it's all relative I suppose...


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It's raining men...

-
We overslept this morning.  I'm not entirely surprised having walked the equivalent of a half marathon over the past two days, and we just about made breakfast.   We did all the usual Christmas stuff today.  Carnaby Street, Regent Street, Borough Market, mulled wine (again), chocolate covered bananas and caramelised nuts.  There was also the issue of the very inclement weather.  Wandering around the whole A to Z of London, the husband decided that a purchase of a hat and scarf was necessary.  Being a fairly sensible woman, I had brought a hat, scarf and gloves with me, but the husband, being of tougher stuff (he hails from the north) had proclaimed that he was no southern softy and would deal with whatever the weather had to throw at him in a manly fashion. Fast forward to late morning, the rain was chucking it down, and the manly fashion had morphed into wimpy whinging about a chaffed chin due to an evil coat zip and a wet head.  And so began the hut hunt. We tried sports shops (t
Read more

Ain't no mountain high enough...

-
Image
I thought you might be interested in the other stuff Mr Bird and I got up to while we were away in the Wobble Box this weekend.  The pinnacle of the weekend was the mountain climb (see what I did there?) but before this, we had anticipated a simple, peaceful and quiet few days together with the dogs.  What we hadn't expected was to be shouted at as we strolled to the pub on the first night, 'What on earth are you two doing here?' Standing outside a posh (and long) motor home, were two very good friends of ours.  Happily retired, they trolley around the world in their home on wheels, and just happened to land in Pandy a whole thirty minutes before we did on Thursday.  The funny thing is, that every time we see each other, the subject of caravans and motor homes is always raised, with promises on both sides made that we will arrange something together for a weekend.  To date, we've never managed to do this, but it finally happened by accident.  We all decided that th
Read more

Diary...

-
Eight years ago, I came up with the idea of writing a diary for my children which I would put into the public domain.  And so Words from a Bird began.  Two thousand posts and almost a million words later, I am still going.  But like all of us, lives change.  Eight years ago, my life was all about the four children, schools, universities, boyfriends, girlfriends, work, my husband, family and the dogs. Much of that is still relevant today, thank goodness, but we now add in two weddings (one more pending), grandchildren (one, and again, one pending), retirement and looking after parents. So to all my completely gorgeous readers, to the ones who have been with me right from the start and to the new ones who have discovered me just this week, thank you for coming along for the ride with me.  I hope I carry on making you giggle for many years to come!   If you don't want to miss anything, just follow the Words from a Bird page. And when I am a very old lady, I hope that my children will
Read more