Fruitless fruits...?

Disclaimer: that title comes from the last line of a well-known poem by Norman MacCaig, Visiting Hour, but it seems apt for a day which I felt I just allowed to pass. It began purposefully enough: it was pale grey but more or less dry - I hate it when the windscreen wipers suddenly activate themselves to scrape across the imperceptible drizzle that's landed on the screen - when I went out to do the supermarket shop a day early by my self-imposed and totally ridiculous timetable. I may stick to doing it then - the local paper wasn't available as it comes out on Friday, but the shelves seemed relatively well-stocked and it wasn't busy. I spent an inordinate amount for two people, but I was making up for the scrappy food situation born of having a wee holiday.

Actually what I was aware of needing was fresh fruit and vegetables. By the time I'd picked up all the stuff I wanted from that end of the shop, my trolley was half full - punnets of Scottish strawberries and raspberries, blueberries, nectarines, pears (for poaching with a teaspoonful of honey - yum!), apples, onions, Ayrshire new potatoes (at last!), pak choi, cabbage, a gleaming aubergine - people look at me strangely. The rasps and pak choi have gone already ...

After that I had a brief discussion over zoom about my sermon for Sunday - I always like to clear things with the Boss beforehand - and collapsed with coffee and the last of Himself's chocolate caterpillar Father's Day cake. And really, that was that! I fell asleep in the chair like an old lady after lunch, and when we looked out while considering a walk we decided it was so miserable - raining quite hard, and consequently chilly - that I did a load of Italian instead and then made dinner.

Trouble is that we've both hurt a knee apiece; I don't know if the long drive had anything to do with it, but I'm sure I have fluid on the joint and it has a tendency to click suddenly with a great stab of pain. It's also strangely stiff. I'm fed up with it already and mainlining nightly on ibuprofen. 

The Covid case rates in Scotland continue to rise merrily as the politicians and the news prattle happily about holidays; we're told that there are twice as many young(ish ) men infected as women but of course they'll pass it on and it'll soon even out - and I feel that we've moved Through the Looking Glass and entered a bizarre world protected by shiny grey ships taunting a belligerent superpower. 

Is it any wonder I'm driven to blipping a bowl of fruit?