Truckin'

The Wheelie isn't too well today. Entirely self inflicted. Hadn't had a beer for a long time, so I took a wobble to the local shop with the Bear. Mistake number one. These boots may be made for walking, but the spindly things dangling below Mr. Potato Man seriously objected.

Having survived that, I had a couple of cans of lager, then Bear stuck a rather large glass of Cidré in my hand. I forgot my misspent youth, whereas one mixes lager and cider to produce a 'Snakebite'. I didn't, but follow a lager by a cider is the same. Snakebites are the root of all evil.

I don't do hangovers, thank ye small gods. But this morning, urggghhh.

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I'm under orders, apparently, to walk with my Bear to the local Asda. It's no further away than the shop. I've acquiesced, but I don't want to go.  However, I'll give it a shot. The hardest part would be walking around the store. If you really thought about it, it's amazing how much time you spend on your feet while wandering  around  a supermarket.  Luckily, they provide in store wheelchairs, so I think I'll use one. I'll be embarrassed to, though why I couldn't tell you why.  I have a funny feeing this wheelie is going to sleep well tonight.

I find the local Asda quite overwhelming, all that space and so many people. Though the shoppers seem to follow an unspoken etiquetté . There's quite a lovely choreography how they and their trolleys weave and maneuver around each other. An unspoken politeness and courtesy.  There's hope for us Brits yet.