An eerie serenity was my aural bedfellow during this morning’s meander to purchase essential foodstuffs. It’d be incorrect to depict this paucity of resonance with the adage ‘It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop’. After all, whilst passing a residence on Moor Knoll Lane, whose windows were ajar, I heard a crashing sonance, followed by one of it’s residents shout “Fred, can you come here an help me pick up the contents of my needle box!….. I’ve just dropped them all over the bloody floor!”
Apart from that cacophony and the bark of a distance canine, though, the first part of my odyssey for comestibles was unusually tranquil. After cutting, though a ginnel named Maccas Way’ on navigated starboard onto Main Street, the background noise did ramp up at tad.
The occasional vehicle rumbled by at this juncture, either A650 or Thorpe bound. Consequently, the smell of cigarette smoke, which was the redolence accompanying me as I strolled Maccas Way, gave way to car exhaust fumes; some emanating for the two police cars that hastily passed in the direction of Lower Ardsley and Thorpe.
There’s troubled at t’mill I mused poetically, while rubber necking at the cop cars that’d sped past. After witnessing the scene I concluded that in the last hundred yards or so my existential screenplay had moved from idyllic serenity of ‘Last of the Summer Wine‘ to an episode of hard-fisted cop show The Sweeney.
Consequently, I mentally prepared myself for a return journey which included views of villains being cuffed over the bonnet of a 1975 Ford Granada.
As I passed the Microform building where my mum worked prior to retirement, partly coincidentally, mater rang me on my mobile phone.
“Have you remembered the milk?!” she offered as her opening gambit.
“I’ve not even got to the shop yet, mum!” I retorted in dismay.
“What! You’ve not got there yet?….. You walking via Bradford?!” mater mischievously inquired.
“I only left the flaming house five minutes ago!!….. It’s at least a fifteen minute walk from your house to Tesco Express!” I pointed out agitatedly.
“Remember to get some spuds for tonight’s tea!” the matriarch barked.
“We don’t need potatoes!….. There’s a bag of Maris Pipers in the garage!” I sought to assure her.
“Yes, but get some more just in case!” she requested bluntly.
“During this lockdown, you’re only supposed to shop for essentials!” I affirmed tersely.
“Well, in the unlikely event the police stop you when you’re out with your shopping bag, how the hell will they know the spuds aren’t essential?!…… Anyhow, I bet you’ll a bottle of wine for yourself, which isn’t essential!” the old lady pointed out facetiously.
“It is when I bloody live with you!!” I barked back with tongue in cheek.
“Look, are you gonna get some more spuds, Gary?!” Mrs S queried tersely.
“No I’m not!” I responded firmly.
“Why?!” mater chuntered.
“Because I don’t want to carry a bloody big bag of potatoes on the 20 minute walk home. Especially when when don’t desperately need the flaming things!” I grumpily informed the matriarch.
At this point, I terminated the call, continuing on my journey with destination food store.
On the walk back, which was pleasantly enhanced by being bathed in overhead sun, once again I was startled while strolling the street of Moor Knoll Lane. While passing the house where, on my outbound journey, the pins had been inadvertently spilled, there came an almighty yelp followed by the exclamation:-
“Aargh!….. Fred, you pillock!……I’ve just stood on one of those bloody pins you were supposed to pick up for me!”