Monday, 23 March 2020
I blame the onions
But if I'm honest, my situation wasn't that desperate (things might be different in a week or so's time), and it was a bit embarrassing that the only size of packet they had was of nine (count 'em) rolls. It's hard to imagine the kind of intestinal apocalypse for which I'd need that many (I was planning how to share with neighbours or the local food bank collection, honest, officer). That will teach me to have eyes too big for ... something or other.
And it rather revealed that, even though on the whole the distancing advised by the government isn't that far different from the way most of my time is spent (apart from lunches out a few days a week and the occasional pint in a pub), there's a sensation that's more than the ordinary annoyance when something one takes for granted suddenly changes.
Realistically, it's not hard, even now, to change with it, find substitutes for things that aren't on shelves, use up my usual store-cupboard stocks (a good week's worth), or even just do without (heaven knows my parents' generation managed that, and we're a long way off Woolton Pie, after all). But it's surprising how quickly one slips into the naggingly uneasy frame of mind that keeps a spare shopping bag tucked away in case there's something useful that might not be there another time.
In the meantime, there are some onions to use up.