A Brief Note for the Solstice.

I had my usual solstice fire today. And, as usual, I wore my old gardening gloves to manipulate the burning fuel. I remembered when I put them on that one of the fingers has a hole at the end of it, but then forgot when it mattered. So I burned my finger. I do it every year.

But the shopping trip to Ashbourne was most eventful. It started with the shortest GP appointment ever – three minutes to have some blood drained for testing. And then there was the woman whose path I kept crossing in different places and at different times until it was verging on creepy. And a man told me how considerate I was because I’d brought all three trolleys from the trolley park instead of just the one I needed (Sainsbury’s has a shortage of the shallow type of trolleys, courtesy of scrap metal thieves.) It was considerate of me actually, but I didn’t agree with him because I don’t do that kind of thing. And finally, a West Highland terrier absolutely insisted I made friends with him whether I wanted to or not. Fortunately for both of us, I did.

Oh, nearly forgot… I spent the extra 50p to buy posh mince pies instead of the peasants’ variety that I usually buy, so now I now have six mince pies with brandy-laced filling and all-butter pastry to savour. (That’s my nod to the Christmas season this year.) I know I shouldn’t have done it because atherosclerosis licks its lips and dances a little jig when it hears the phrase ‘all butter.’ But you know what? I decided to be generous to the old tyrant just this once. And I might not be here this time next year, so what the hell.