Shopping on a Wet Afternoon.

Ashbourne was cold and depressingly wet this afternoon, and I felt cold and a little depressed accordingly. I’ve always been hypersensitive to atmospheres, you know. I have.

I decided I wanted a smoke at one point, so I went up a covered alleyway that runs off the lower market square to get out of the rain. The cold wind still whistled keenly there, so I climbed a few stone steps that led to a recessed doorway and rolled a roll-up. I felt oddly alone, which I don’t usually feel even when I am alone, which is most of the time. Must have been the atmosphere, I expect. It went as soon as I left the alleyway and headed for the fruit and veg shop.

I told the woman that the two pears I’d bought last week had become inedible within three days; they’d turned brown and mushy inside. She said they’d come from a bad Belgian batch, and gave me two free ones to replace them – from an English batch. I decided it was unfair to judge Belgium pejoratively on the strength of one box of mushy pears. There is, after all, Villette to be considered, and Villette is one of my favourite novels.

By a strange coincidence, the Belgian theme continued at the library. I’d ordered the DVD of the film In Bruges, and it had arrived. Before I discovered that, however, I’d already selected Girl with the Dragon Tattoo for this week’s delectation. Problem: the case was there, but the disc was missing. The librarian was nonplussed. ‘What a shame,’ he said. Shame indeed; maybe it had something to do with the atmosphere. But then Messrs Farrell, Gleeson and Fiennes made their appearance and the day was saved. Shoot First, Sightsee Later. Right.

  

There’s a woman staff member in the supermarket who seems to regard me as more than a mere customer these days; it appears I’m an acquaintance now. Fortunately, she’s one of those people who radiate a simple goodness, so I don’t mind. She stopped me today to tell me about her dog which has become unaccountably standoffish with her. She said she felt sneeped. I thought the word ‘sneeped’ was a dialect word peculiar to my neck of the woods, twenty five miles away in the neighbouring county, but it appears to be known in Derbyshire, too. I wonder whether they have ganzies here.

During the course of telling the tale, she made several references to ‘Bob.’ I assume Bob is her husband, although she never said as much. Maybe I’m supposed to know, me being an acquaintance an’ all. I was duly sympathetic and wished her well.

They had Spitfire beer (Shepherd Neame, 4.5%ABV and a fine brew indeed) on special offer at £1 a bottle. The rain stopped and the sky lightened. Literally.

And, incidentally, Seance on a Wet Afternoon (which inspired the title of this post) is an excellent old British psychological thriller. It has lots of atmosphere.