something, teeth almost certainly, is upsetting the boy. we are, of course, out of bonjela and gripe water (the old ‘knees up and cry’ routine suggests a touch of wind too) so it’s jump in the car and scoot on down to the local 24 hour supermarket for supplies.
remarkably, given the hour, and the fact i don’t live in a bustling metropolis, it’s very busy. 5 mins of queuing once i have a basket full of goodies is just daft. even more daft is the man in front of me, in his 60s, has nothing but a packet of raw beetroot. at 12.30 in the morning his pressing need for red root vegetables had clearly got the better of him.
there was a touch of the surreal about the whole experience. especially as i barely saw another car in the 15 miles from here to there. and back.
