Almost eighteen hours ...

It was still night outside when I woke this morning; still dark when I left the house at 7.30am, and just growing light when I emerged from Morrison's with my overflowing trolley (I never take a deep one, and it's not always sensible not to). And now it's midnight, and I'm typing furiously and I suspect it's because I am furious ...

But not, dear blippers, with any of you, and not with anyone I met while shopping. Indeed, I was once more utterly cheered by the checkout lady with the blue/lilac streaks in her white hair, who is always helpful, always cheerful, always makes the experience more palatable. I enjoyed my breakfast, though I had to make the coffee (which usually follows breakfast after a decent interval) more or less immediately I'd cleared up as the cravings had already set in.

Later, I went back to the Post Office with two more parcels (it's getting beyond a joke, this). And yes, there was another person challenged in the social distancing, mask-wearing department. Armed with the crowd-sourced wisdom after my last experience, I adopted a different tack. He was a man, probably about my age, but sort of ... knackered-looking. I was standing on my red blob; he walked over his and came towards me. So I said: "This is my blob; that's yours - and your mask needs to be on your nose, not holding up your chin." And he sighed, and said "You're right," and pulled it up. But he still moved forwards, so I added: "And don't come any closer, or I shall suspect you of designs upon my person. I might even scream." And we both agreed that would fairly shake things up, and all was well. Did I do well, people?

Later I had another hymn-recording session in the perishing church. It takes quite a lot for the temperature outside to be 11ºC but for the interior of the building to feel like a tomb, but we manage it. Anyway, we got it done.  And then there was a glass of wine, and later Mr PB's curry, and Tin Star on the telly. 

But it's not good, after almost eighteen hours on the go, to be heading for bed in a state of rage, and that's what's happening. It's not just the news on the telly, it's news that's all over my areas of Facebook - and both are redolent of incompetence and thoughtlessness. I'll need to find a boring book to read ...