The generally confused musings of a tired witch. And rotten oranges

I sat opposite a pair of leather boots on the train. Their owner deserted them for a pair of shoes, despite the train being really quite full and I could barely look after my own boots, which at least had feet in them. Mine, I hasten to add.

We went for pizza. When we were off the train, that is. We suspected we might find shopping for food easier on full stomachs. I knew I needed to stop off at three places. Wrote two down and forgot the third. It was Three. The phone shop. Yes I know that’s not food. Easy to get confused.

Earlier Daughter had dealt with a lack of breakfast by visiting the Royal Burger place, where about the only veggie thing is the chilli cheese bites. Four. Bites. A week ago in London the same Royal chilli things came in packs of six. Inflation in cheesy chilli?

Left Daughter with the OAPs outside the foodshop, minding the suitcases. Two of them. Cases. More OAPs. They had their zimmer frames to sit on. Daughter had nothing. I zipped (in mind, if not in body) round grabbing milk and cheese and oranges. All the oranges came in bags with a rotten one. Spent some time picking the least rotten oranges.

The drive outside the house was covered in ice. (There was ice on the sea in places, too.) The daytime temperature was probably not bad, seeing as it was sunny. Inside the house it was 18 degrees, which is very good. Now, it’s a bit less. It’s also considerably colder out. Full moon, and all that.

Wondered about the age of our pilot. The one on the plane. Having learned recently that some of them can be twenty and still pilot commercial aircraft, you just wonder. He sounded intelligent enough.

It might be winter, but the ever eagle-eyed Daughter found a spider in her room. Not dead, either. But at least we don’t have to mow the grass.

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