Uttoxeter Today.

There was something odd in the air in Uttoxeter today. I was walking towards one of the charity shops (the one where the person-with-presence works, and she was there today which was nice) when a man approached me and said he didn’t want to sell me anything. I said ‘no thanks’ (because I never trust strangers who say they don’t want to sell me anything) but he continued in his attempt to attract my attention and clearly wanted to talk to me about something, only I didn’t catch what it was. I said ‘no thanks’ again and he said ‘have a nice day.’ Do people really say ‘have a nice day’? Seems they do, at least the ones who say they don’t want to sell you anything.

A little while later I was sitting eating my lunchtime sandwich when no less than three dishevelled elderly people walking past turned to hold me with strange, leering smiles. One of them even spoke to me, but I didn’t catch a word of what he was saying so I just said ‘yes’ in reply and he went away. Lots of Gromit-style eye rolls and shaking of head ensued as I was beginning to suspect that there was something odd in the air in Uttoxeter today.

Later again and I was sitting quietly in the same spot eating my piece of bread pudding (which I’d fetched from Greggs in the interim, just to add colour to the story) when my ears were assailed by the sound of an elderly man with a microphone trying to persuade the milling throng to seek salvation through Jesus. And behind him was an even older man who put his backpack on the ground and then couldn’t pick it up again because he was too stiff.

‘This is becoming surreal,’ I thought, and went off to the Bear coffee shop for my usual cup of Americano with cream.

While I was in there I read a newspaper which recounted lots of strange stories, like the one about some ex-aide of Trump who said that if Melania ever leaves him – which I fully expect she will do one day – he will find a way to have her deported because he’s that sort of person. ‘Why would he need to?’ I thought. ‘If Melania ever breaks the chains that bind, surely she’ll be on the next plane back to Slovenia before Donald’s hair has time to form itself into three exclamation marks.’ Let’s face it, it must be tough enough for good Americans to live in the US under Trump. Heaven knows what it must be like for a good European.

But then I started getting dizzy spells, so I went and picked up a few things from Tesco and came home.

And now I’m enjoying an oddly pleasant Italian beer called Birra Moretti. You wouldn’t think Italians would brew beer, would you? Maybe it helps them get through the tedium of treading grapes all day.