Well I am pleased to say that despite BoJo’s best efforts to force me to be a normal human being nothing has changed. I am growing concerned that the remaining ‘essential’ stores are starting to think that I am a shoplifter. I must be the only person who, faced with no substantive food in the house, can make a plan and head to the store only to return empty handed. The genius of this is that when I return I am angry with myself for the situation but equally, somehow, smug in the knowledge that I knew it would happen.
I genuinely have no idea where the rage comes from when I am shopping for food or, to be fair, where it is targeted. I stroll into the shop quite relaxed and by the end of the first aisle I am incandescent about nothing in particular. Then I get angry with myself for the fact that I am angry and don’t know why. I have no recollection of being assaulted by a tomato as a child, I have never been slighted by a pork pie so I am at a loss as to what my argument is.
If I make it all the way to the end of the first aisle then I am fuming with the quiche in that fridge or can’t believe that Scotch Eggs are so uniform. I am also, especially since we are only allowed out for essential shopping, obliged to buy something now. Storming out of the store empty handed is a dangerous card nowadays and should, in my opinion, only be played when you are at the front and can cover it as ‘forgetting your money’ or some such.
There are many things on my mental list that I could buy but since I have failed at the first hurdle I have already deleted the list. What is the point in buying the pickle if you didn’t pick up the cheese? Go back and get the cheese you say? Interesting idea but I am still fuming at the Cornish pasty so I won’t give it the satisfaction.
Since I am now going , quite frankly, bat shit crazy I can’t pick up something random because someone will be judging me. Even if there is nobody there, somewhere somebody is judging don’t you know. A frozen ready meal? great idea and then they can imagine me sat in my underwear with pasta sauce on my chest and just tut at the singleton who let himself go. Seriously this is how my mind works, god only knows why!
So the default option is milk. Try judging me on that eh, we all need milk and hell I drink a lot of tea so nothing wrong there, perfectly normal to buy milk we all do it. So if you see me in the queue with a bottle of milk and I seem distracted please rest assured it is not you, I am trying to counter a murderous rage and it is all down to those fishcakes in the fridge, bastards!
I decided that Saturday was a take away night and, as you will have come to realise, this is way more significant than it sounds. This is a decision made early with the rest of day spent reinforcing the plan somewhere in what passes for my mind. The plan was to order it around 7pm and everything was set for a chilled evening. Around ten to seven I was drinking my last brew of the day as I wandered over, locked the front door and placed the keys on the hook. The smug voice in my head murmured ‘you knew it wasn’t happening really’ and I had quite a delightful sandwich instead.
There in lies the issue, I think, years of ‘food is fuel’ have left me quite frankly incapable of food planning. To this end I remain eternally grateful for the services of my own personal shopper aka ‘CB’ for filling in the blanks that fill my shopping trips faster than inflatable boats fill Dover beach.
Work is carrying on apace at the Plough, all of the decking is up and the new front wall is taking shape. I would like to thank the nightmare that is parking in Shanklin for its role in preventing Island roads getting an opportunity to practice being a nuisance. By the time they got the opportunity to get a good look at the trenching works I was washing the pavement down, nothing to see here as they say.
The impending tightening of restrictions means we need a big push on materials this week, the project manager in me is incredibly uncomfortable not having all of the material on site. The extended lockdown in itself does not offer an extended window of works because the builder has other commitments and we all know how hard it is to start again. We need material on site to carry on the good progress.
In other news I see that the predicted ‘success’ of dry January was not to be. The pundits had predicted that the nation would embrace the unhinged idea of taking a month off of drinking alcohol. Lockdown excesses followed by Christmas were apparently going to empower the fun police and their lunatic ideas.
This dry January has followed in the miserable footsteps of its predecessors. Social media is awash with declarations from people shunning the booze despite the trauma of lockdown. Well done Sharon, you go out for friends birthdays and sometimes have a prosecco with dinner, go you with your whole month teetotal.
Dry January is just an opportunity for those who rarely drink to feel smug about the fact that they ‘can leave it alone for a month’. I worry about these sober people and I wonder why they feel the need to tell me that they are sober for a month, like I care. I will enjoy a bottle of wine and relax while you kick the dog and shout at the kids because you ‘don’t feel the need to drink’.
So to all those occasional drinkers, who we would normally see a couple of times a year in the pub. who are ‘doing’ dry January. Firstly let me assure you that you are morons, guided by some utter bullshit that you follow only because it is a very easy success in a very sad life. Secondly please remember anybody can ‘not drink’ but no good story starts with ‘ I was on my seventh orange juice when ‘.
Nobody needs to drink just like nobody needs to eat crisps we drink because we enjoy it. Once again I will ensure that I drink on every day of January to counter the sober sheep. But in tribute to your determination I am going to give up for February. No not drink of course, I am giving up going to the gym, all of February and despite lockdown I think I can do this. If anyone wants to support me in this valiant endeavour please drop a bottle of red at the door.