Spoiled for choice

Pretty sad blip. I was busy in the garden this morning and then ran a few errands and after lunch painted half the deck. Cleaned up in time to watch President Obama address the nation from Afghanistan.

After I took this blip I was remembering life growing up at home without a refrigerator. Milk delivered daily to the back door by George at six o'clock in the morning, (we lived near the beginning of his round) mum shopped almost daily: at Mr. Mason's the butcher just about twenty yards down the High Street (there was another butcher at the other end of the long high street); there were three bakeries, one right across the street from us. We bought cheeses, coffee, tea and the occasional bottle of wine from Mr. Petley next door down from Mr. Mason. Mr. South kept a green-grocery another fifty yards down the street on the opposite side of the road where mum bought fruit and vegetables. Half hundredweight bags of potatoes would appear in the store-room.

There was a Co-op, too, with a butcher but was more like a modern meat shop. Mr. Mason was a proper butcher with his own small abattoir, the live animals were kept in the field behind us. Many people kept laying hens so eggs were easy to come by and fresh!

O dear, What a ramble in time gone by just from opening a 'fridge door.