It was strange to see the one person who can reduce me to tears with a single phrase on Saturday in the car park of Sainsbury’s (Helston). It could have been any day and I would still have thought of the phrase but the fact that it was 23 April,
St George’s Day, Shakespeare’s birthday, would-have-been-dad’s-sixty-ninth-birthday struck me as whimsical and portentous.
I completed my shopping not able to get that phrase out of my head; not amusing when you are struggling to find the frozen food section for a last night of the holioday and no money left, don’t tell Jamie kind of dinner. She just kept popping into my head toting a Benjamin Bunny Tam O’Shanter and a fitted white day dress and running in the smoke and the steam of the 9.15 to London and now Bernard Cribbins was trying to muscle in on the act too.
It’s all very distracting when you can’t keep actresses of a certain age and fictional station masters out of a small shopping trip.
By the time I left I had been convinced to buy a lottery ticket which I just never do, using a load of numbers which may once have been the numbers could possibly but perhaps not.
Thank-you, I think, Ms Agutter for the disturbed shopping and thoughts of my dad.