A bad day. A VERY bad day indeed.

Meet Roland.
More of Roland later.

A bad day - A VERY bad day indeed.

It started when the disputer announced “Good Friday tomorrow”:-

Redraw ALL plans.

Alice & I were ONCE forced, unwittingly, into shopping on a Friday BEFORE a Bank Holiday.
I have managed to get 5.5yrs into “borrowed time” and, so far as I remember, NEVER once shopped on a Sunday, OR a Bank Holiday.
I can't remember which Friday it was, but I CLEARLY remember getting in the car and taking 45 minutes to reach the car park exit.

NO WAY was I enduring that again.

Next happening – I walked past the veggies and fruit; what caught my eye?
Sicilian Lemons. (Alice's VASTLY favourite variety.) 
https://www.blipfoto.com/entry/2138040913593633270
The switch was now poised. 
Various little happenings toyed with the switch as I went around; I needn't enumerate them.

Then I met “Yoland” as he pronounces it.

Although "Not a full Shilling"; whatever else Roland is: “Village idiot” he, MOST emphatically, is NOT!!!

He lived with his Mam until she got her time in. The town was then sure Roland would be institutionalised.
NOT SO. 
I'm not saying he hasn't some manner of “minder” tucked away somewhere, but I never see him around town in anybody's company, always alone, and always in one of
 Lt. Columbo's cast off coats.

Roland's walk is worth witnessing – Imagine a small person-shaped toy, with 4 legs from the knees down, so that as you push/pull it along the 4 wee leglets rotate at the knees giving the impression of walking. 
If you're ever in Penrith and see Roland you'll know it's him from his walk  alone.
;¬)
As I said idiot he AIN'T; he's more a sort of “Encyclopedia Penrithica”. 
I don't know of anybody with such encyclopedic knowledge of the town's “gannins on”.
I barely see him once a week, and to speak to, probably less than once per 6 months, if that.
 In fact I'm not sure I have spoken to him since Al died, but he knew; and that, obviously, Alice was my wife during the course of our "Crack".

 Photo by special request of himself.

I then treated myself to an “Allday breakfast” during which I experienced a strange abdominal sensation which, basically, translates as 
“Get home – P.D.Q.”

As I left Morrison's I had what I shall merely describe as a “MOVIPREP” moment. I'll not go into detail I'll just say that if I had “gone” while in Morrison's all would have been well and just LEAVE IT AT THAT if you don't mind.
I was forced to jettison my Trolley, complete with "Token". Could have been worse - MIGHT have been a Quid.
;¬)