This year has been a classic British Christmas in that it refuses to stop raining. The temperature has been high and everything has been wet. I even resorted to wearing shorts on Christmas Day. Because of these two factors, I went into town this morning without a mask and, feeling quite the pariah, I swiftly shopped at Waitrose.
The part the weather played in today’s events was in forcing me not to wear a fleece (it was too warm) and my mask was in it. Then, on the way home, I was soaked and had to change my t-shirt. Though minor, these two things impacted me throughout the day.
Firstly, the t-shirt. To replace the sodden one, I grabbed the one that Nicktor sent me last year while I was in Sweden. The one that made Sarah laugh when I accidentally walked in on a video call Mirinda was having with her about something terribly serious. The one I wear rarely because I live in a Tory voting area and don’t want to encourage any tutting.
Now, because of the lack of a mask and the subsequent swift shop, I forgot to buy a couple of things in Waitrose and was thinking I’d have to make an unscheduled shopping trip tomorrow when Mirinda said she’d like to go to Frensham Garden Centre for some logs for the fire. I thought this was an excellent idea because I could also go to the farm shop for what I had forgotten.
We hopped into the car and headed off.
I’d forgotten what t-shirt I was wearing when I asked the young chap in the farm shop if he had any puff pastry. He showed me where it was, chuckling as he did. He explained his chuckling by pointing at my t-shirt. He agreed with it, a big grin on his face.
Given we were so close, it seemed a good idea to visit the Holly Bush for a drink. The drink escalated to lunch. Mirinda had delicious gnocchi while I indulged myself in some superb duck with a grilled parsnip drenched in honey.
As we left the pub, a couple sitting outside burst into laughter. It was the t-shirt again.
“I bought him that t-shirt!” Said the laughing woman, indicating the laughing man sitting beside her.
I looked down and said it wasn’t the same now, but Mirinda ventured that you could still make arseholes out of them if you really, really tried.
