Eight weeks ago, or thereabouts, I acceded to a request from
certain personages of the clucking hen variety to self-isolate. The rationale for
such a request hardly matters, but the fact remains that I agreed to go into
quarantine for their sake.
And so for the past eight weeks I have kept myself well
apart from my fellow humans. I didn’t mind that bit because I’m not all that
keen on most of my fellow humans anyway. What bothered me was having to have
somebody else do my shopping. I had to prepare a list every Friday for the
weekly shop on Saturday, and the pressure of doing so became heavier and
heavier. Why? Well, for several reasons, but mostly because I greatly dislike
having to rely on other people to do things for me, and also because I was most
uneasy at seeing other people taking risks on my behalf. That’s the bit that
really bothered me.
Things came to a head last weekend and I decided that I was
going to start doing my own shopping again. I made the announcement and got
moaned at, but I held firm because enough was enough and my decision was made.
And today I went to Sainsbury’s.
I would never have thought that going to Sainsbury’s could
be such a thrill. I mean, it isn’t exactly the Taj Mahal or the temple complex
at Angkor Wat, is it? It’s a supermarket, a supermarket I’ve been using every
week since I moved to this part of Derbyshire eighteen years ago. But a thrill
it was after eight weeks of isolation. I drove there, I parked up there, I used
the recycling facility, I walked among the people there, many of whom have
worked in that store since before I even started shopping in it. I felt free at
last, and dear old Sainsbury’s felt almost like coming home.
That’s why I’m in a better mood today.
And I suppose I should add that if I do contract Covid-19
and die from it, I hope I can rely on the readers of this blog to fill the
comment section with a healthy array of LOLs.
No comments:
Post a Comment