Wednesday, May 27, 2020
Some mornings the rising sun lets you know it's going to be a scorcher of a day.
'The Font' has found a recipe for roast chicken stuffed with peaches. Angus thinks this sounds sweet. 'The Font' wonders when Angus ever started to worry about things being sweet. Sophie is loaded into the back on the Volvo and dog and master head off in search of peaches. The back of the Volvo is hugely spacious in comparison with the VW. Kind of like flying in 1st Class rather than coach. Sophie is delighted. - she can pace while being driven. We detour to the bakers at the roundabout for a shared croissant. Everyone stands 2 metres apart - even the white van men.
Then onto the greengrocers. Angus puts on his special mask that has been designed for applying toxic chemicals. This gives him something of a Hannibal Lecter look. We're at the front door in time for opening at nine. Ahead of us a gentleman with elasticated waist trousers and a lady with a toile patterned face mask. They both look at Angus with a degree of apprehension. This is what you'd expect if Hannibal Lecter joined your shopping queue.
In and out in exactly three minutes. Hands washed with gel on entry, strict distancing and large plastic partitions between the check out counters. Angus glares in a suitably Presbyterian way at a maskless woman who grazes in the grape aisle. She feels the grapes, then when she finds one to her liking she pops it in her mouth. Angus can't decide whether he's more aggrieved by the lack of the hygiene or the 'wasteage'. Another sign I've turned into my father. The 'signs' seem to be coming more frequently these days.
Back at The Rickety Old Farmhouse the peaches are delivered to the kitchen and Angus and Sophie head off for an hours walk in the rapidly warming but still fresh air. Today Sophie is lucky in finding a copious amount of fresh badger poo in the long grass. This seems to do her no harm whatsoever. We can only assume she has a cast iron stomach. This was not true of any male PON we ever owned.
In lockdown the BBC plays rerun upon rerun of Midsomer Murders. Foreigners must have a very unusual view of life in the UK. This seems to sum it up pretty well.
'The Font' chuckled away at the replies to this question over breakfast : https://twitter.com/manwhohasitall/status/1262345897767325696