Puddle-Duck

My dream last night revolved around my first flat in Ely, which had transformed into an idyllic locale with natty front and back gardens. In reality it didn’t possess any outdoor space and was a bog standard new build on the first floor, but it doesn’t take a genius to deduce that I am craving a sense of home.

For my evening walk, I’d run out of clean t-shirts so had to opt for a vest and puffer jacket combo instead of simply the vest. It’s not yet the weather for vests and I am not one of those Englishmen who wears beachwear whenever it’s sunny. I overheated as I walked but was distracted by disagreements with Hannah about the definition of a supermarket. She was claiming that she hadn’t been into one since the previous Monday yet I know for a fact that a few days ago she purchased from Waitrose two pieces of breaded fish and a lasagne for one. It’s neither hither nor thither that this was the smaller Waitrose in Shrewsbury town centre; this does not qualify as a ‘corner shop’, as she claimed. She hadn’t bobbed in for a ten penny bag of Uncle Joe’s Mint Balls and a Daily Mirror, which would be a valid reason for visiting a corner shop.

These ducks have claimed ownership of a puddle in the road. I’m sure this is a development during the time of coronavirus now that traffic and pedestrians have reduced. The wilderness is reclaiming our towns and cities.