Took my bike out to the market to get bread and chicken. It’s a bit nippy this morning, I will soon need gloves to go biking. As it was nice and sunny the cycle path was replete with walkers, cyclists and gypsies who live down by the river. All of whom use up all the available space on the path forcing me to ring my bell to get past them. Even after ringing fifty, twenty and ten metres away from them people still managed to look surprised that a cyclist should want to cycle past them on the cycle path and take it really slowly getting out of the way. A little like Sunday drivers, “Oh, you mean you’re actually trying to go somewhere in your car? You don’t want to dawdle on the main road and point at trees?” That will teach me to remember remember* to never go out on a Sunday.
The bread man gave me my usual loaf and the chicken man gave me some amazingly big chicken legs and some detective novels. He and my wife share a taste in crime fiction books.
Very large chicken and crime fiction distributor in a very small, blurry trailer
Came back home to find the children, still in their pyjamas at 11 o’clock, in a blacked out house all curtains drawn and listening to Apache from my thrift shop Shadows album and driving radio controlled cars around the living room. The Shadows’ Greatest Hits is their new favourite since we took exception to listening to the Tone Loc album Loc’ed After Dark for the fiftieth time running.
*For non-British readers – « Remember, remember the fifth of November! » is a reference to The Gunpowder plot of 1605.