|The casualties, when I got them home|
I dropped Chris off to catch the London train before 8am. He is working there most of the week and won't be back until Sunday. This gives me four days to totally spring clean the cottage. Winter use of a wood burning stove means that surfaces everywhere are in desperate need of a damp cloth and a bit of elbow grease.
Such is the "downside" of a real fire.
Now people that actually have to carry out the mundane and satisfying job of "clearing the decks" will tell you that you have to reward yourself with a little treat as you buff and scrub. for many the treat is chocolate.....for me.....it is a crisp and well constructed scotch egg....and so after I had dropped the Boffin off..I drove around to Prestatyn's new Tesco and bought myself two.
I also bought an armful of cat food ( Albert will only eat gravy covered chunks) bread, milk, dog food , fruit, bleach and yogurt and not wanting to pay the extra 5 p for a carrier bag I juggled my purchases in my arms until I got to the car.
I won't explain all this wonderfully interesting routine any more, suffice to say, that , as I drove around the mini roundabout outside the supermarket, the scotch eggs and four weightwatchers citrus yogurts shot off the roof of the Berlingo and bounced across the road.
I couldn't give a stuff about the yogurts but the sight of scotch eggs careering out of sight chilled my very soul and blocking the traffic , I jumped out to retrieve what was left of them.
A casual observer could have been forgiven for thinking I had run over a cat or something, such was my horrified reaction to " the accident" but I was lucky
The plastic packaging that covers every bloody thing we buy nowadays had protected the eggs adequately enough
This obsession is getting out of hand