Since the miners had all been rescued by the time I woke up this morning, I thought it would be safe to do some more cooking. I didn’t want to disappoint Delyth when she next came round, so after poring over a few cookery books, I set off to the supermarket for the necessary ingredients.
There are a couple of roundabouts in the approach to our nearest decent size supermarket – obviously, a drive away – and I was struck by the person sitting in a deck chair near the pedestrian crossing on the approach to the first roundabout. They were decked out in one of those bright yellow reflective jackets that builders wear when they’re trying to convince you that you need your drive re-laying, wearing a hard hat and holding a clipboard. In fact, there was a similarly clad person on each corner of land on both roundabouts, presumably counting the cars.
A proper traffic survey, in other words, unlike the one that the council carried out earlier in the year in the village. The first I knew of that survey was when we received a flyer saying that the council had carried it out and found no real problems. They obviously didn’t come on a day when the village butcher is open. He’s very good and very popular but not all his customers have a clear idea of the highway code when it comes to parking near junctions. Still, I suppose badly parked vehicles aren’t as bad as the juggernauts that rumble through the village on a pretty regular basis, and I’m not sure how the council’s traffic survey also failed to notice them. There was a phone number if you wanted to discuss any of the issues raised in the leaflet, but naturally when I tried it, it went to an answerphone. And I never heard back.
Anyway, rant (nearly) over. I use a car to get to places – the village is wonderful, but even it doesn’t manage to have absolutely everything I need – so I can’t really complain that other people do. I just wish they’d slow down a bit in the village. Now I’ve finished.
I got to the supermarket, bought the various ingredients, headed home and walked into the house just as the phone stopped ringing. God bless 1471. (We stopped bothering with an answering machine completely once BT introduced 1571.) I didn’t immediately recognise the number, but on calling it back, discovered it was my friend Kate, long-time city dweller , local radio DJ and regular host.
“I was just phoning to ask if you could bring a dessert tonight,” she explained.
Tonight? What was happening tonight? I’d only forgotten that we’d arranged to meet for a girly-dinner, so her sudden need for edible rather than potable contributions was timely. I dumped the biscuit ingredients on the floor, got back in the car, headed back to the supermarket, probably upsetting the traffic survey figures, bought some cream for a really evil but simple alcoholic syllabub and headed home again.
The afternoon passed in a delightful cinnamon-enhanced haze and I now need to buy some more containers to store my goodies in once they’ve cooled. I’ll have to talk to Delyth about where to sell them and how to package them when I see her next, hopefully this weekend.
The OH was a bit thrown when he arrived home to be presented with his dinner on a tray as I headed out of the door but he coped quite well when I offered him the last of the syllabub with some cinnamon shortbread for pudding.
As for the evening at Kate’s, it was great fun and totally different from village life. Another time/place, I suspect.