Eye of the storms

A bright false dawn had me doubting Eunice's power but I knew what was coming as soon as I got there so back home I headed, and needed a stop to stretch my legs and refuel with essential boujie coffee, and as the bright low sun illuminated my passage brightly I pointed the mobile at a few things.

A proper Butchers this one and some fine meaty wares were on display. Quite fancy those ready to bake sausage rolls for next time. Allards of Holt if you are likewise tempted

If you work in a Butchers you'll come home stinking of mince like Barry in that sharply observed Northern Aherne/Cash sitcom The Royale Family, if you work in a Deli you'll probably come home stinking of the Bishop, or his cheese at least.

Since Lockdown 1:0 I've never again darkened the door of a Barbers, preferring the thrill of  a selfie buzz cut  front of  a mirror resting on the fruit bowl and saving many quids, and minutes of forced conversation so I doubt if any if these products will ever be applied to my balding pate and ironic face fuzz with a badger hair brush, or by the artisanal fingers of a leather aproned, heavily tattooed hipster bearded Tonsorial  Artist or his Nemesis in the Hut.

 

Glorious light which was soon replaced with savage skies and truly terrifying winds which led to the roof of the LIDL I was later queuing in being partially torn off much to our collective consternations. Fortunately I made it home from said store laden with essential supplies, namely scratchings and crackling, wine and whisky as it's a Friday and the Commander in Chief always has a whisky on a Friday. With Coke. So I'll not be offering the Jura.....