Tesco...

... swore I'd never enter this hell-hole on principle, but as I no longer have control of the grocery shopping I had to go along to at least make sure something was bought that I could actually face eating; recent purchases have been bizarre to say the least. After 5 minutes within those Satanic doors I needed to leave; the bright lights, loudspeaker announcements, shrieking kids and uncaring oafs who should never have been granted access to the trolleys of mass destruction all combined to give me an overpowering urge to tear down the aisles swinging a crutch over my head and laying waste to jars of disgusting over-flavoured wares, and the sheeplike customers obeying the signs to buy two for one of all manner of garbage "because we're helping you to save money". I managed to resist this impulse (couldn't have run more than 2 steps anyway without landing in an undignified heap), and contented myself with clapping both hands over my ears and moaning quietly every time a child's unchecked scream pierced my wounded brain like a dentist's drill.

So much for the horrors of today; on the upside I discovered Heather's story while trawling the web for more help and info on my condition. The lady in question also had a SAH and it changed her into a sex-maniac. I'm trying to decide whether this would be a good thing to adopt, as it could lead to lots of blameless fun before the crabby-old-ladyhood kicks in. Heather herself doesn't seem too worried by it, although her husband seems decidedly inimpressed. If he wants to snap her out of it I recommend a trip to Tesco; that cures all desires for pleasure.

Africa is bright orange today.