Easter Sunday's Only Thrill.

I got accosted by a woman in Uttoxeter today. I’d say she was in her fifties, a little dishevelled but some way short of down and out, and she was pushing a supermarket trolley containing two well stocked carrier bags and what looked like a folded duvet. Does that suggest a bag lady? I’m not sure that I’m qualified to guess.

She began by telling me how awful Uttoxeter had become and how much better it was to live in the countryside. I concurred and offered the obvious reply that high streets are dying these days, suffocated under the weight of retail parks and online shopping. And then she entered into a string of further diatribes to which I also concurred, partly because I heard little of what she said and partly because it was easier than engaging in a conversation which I was quite sure would have no ultimate purpose.

Being an affable and polite sort of person, I tried hard to think of a closing statement which would set me free without giving offence. I came up with one, said it, and started walking away. It wasn’t good enough. She refused to let me go and I had to come up with another one. And so I did, and eventually escaped.

So then I wondered why she’d chosen me as a suitable object of engagement. I suppose it was because there was hardly anybody else in the town on account of it being Easter Sunday and all the shops were closed (which encouraged me to further wonder where she might have obtained the supermarket trolley. Even the retail park was shuttered and deserted.)

And then I wondered why she hadn’t asked me for the bus fare to Derby. The last one did. Ah, but of course. Being Easter Sunday, there were no buses running.

So that was today’s exciting encounter, and just when I was thinking how drab and boring Easter Sundays are.