So how are we all doing?
Still walking on the sunny side of the street I hope?
Anyway, enough about you.
Back to me.
So, this morning Anna and I had to take an Essential-Supplies trip to Wilko as she heard a rumor on Instagram that Paracetamol had appeared on their shelves.
We weren’t disappointed.
All of the stories were true.
There was one pack left and it was glorious.
I now have enough stock to deal with a rather nasty headache if one should occur.
As we were leaving Anna realised she also had an Essential-Supply need for candy laces so she went back into the store and, to pass the time, I snagged a spot on a wall to await her return.
My perch gave me the opportunity to idly eye-spy the opening of the neighbouring Iceland outlet. Granted, not a prospect that would usually create much excitement in my life but a certain unmistakable Woodstock-esque buzz was building in the air and I for one, was thrilled to be a part of it all.
The source of the buzz, and possibly the strange odour for that matter, appeared to be a gaggle of old-folks who had formed into a crowd outside the still unopened doors of the frozen sausage emporium.
Did something feel a bit off with this picture?
Why were so many of the old folk theatrically bending over walkers and rubbing their knees?
Why did so many seem to be loudly calling out stuff like “My legs are grey. My ears are gnarled. My eyes are old and bent?”
And when I peered more closely, why oh why did so many seem to have white Santa beards and red clown hair?
Are there any young people here?
At this point Anna and her candy haul arrived on scene.
Nudging her I told her to take a look at the twitching group of elderly citizens and see if she could spot anything wrong.
Without either turning round, or indeed swallowing the Sweet ‘n’ Sour Haribo she was chewing, she said “Oh yeah, no, they’re not real old people”.
In response to my puzzled stare, she finished up her chewing, swallowed hard and finally continued:
“They’re the crackheads”.
“Iceland have got Lunchables in”.
It was on Instagram.
“Crackheads love Lunchables”.
With that she popped a Jaw Buster into her face and headed off for the car park.
“Come along Mother, let’s get you home” – she called over her shoulder.
So I done it.
I comed on.