Not panic-buying ...

Having heard the redoubtable Jason Leitch ( National Clinical Director of Healthcare Quality and Strategy) on Radio 4 this morning, I went to Pilates class. I took my own mat (well - I borrowed Mr PB's) and we all stand at least 6' apart or there'd be no room to do anything, and I wanted to have a laugh and feel normal. It was great, in a knackering sort of way, though it'll probably be my last visit to class for a while. Meanwhile, Mr PB made an effort to buy things we'd actually run out of, starting in the supermarket. 

Apparently it was bedlam. It wasn't yesterday, nor the day before, but today, people were out in force pushing loaded trolleys around, their faces grim. One of the things we wanted had run out. No, not toilet paper - soy sauce. I couldn't believe it. Soy sauce! Are they all stir frying like mad, or ordering carry-outs? He abandoned his quest and headed to our wonderful local health shop, where he found a calm atmosphere, soy sauce and bread flour. 

On his way home he passed the upmarket drink shop (what do you call a shop that sells posh gin and whisky and discusses wine with you?) and supplemented our whisky shelf with a nice Campbeltown malt. We're in danger of demolishing the superb 54% whisky that was a Christmas present - it's just too tempting.  And as the rain came on shortly after I took this photo, and the gales swirled round and the ferries faltered, I've not done much all afternoon and certainly nothing deserving of a photo.

Good things have happened, however: another offer from younger friends to do our shopping; the clearing away of the stranded whale cases in the hall; the transfer of holiday insurance to a later date and the purchase of some for a proposed trip north in June; a good bash at the Italian on Duolinguo ...

And there it stopped being good. I struggle desperately with the prepositions. I need a list, and I need my memory back the way it was when I learned strings of French and Latin vocabulary every evening. I was visited by that despair that comes when yet again you cannot remember when you use finche or oppure or bensi ... and right now, I can't think what any of them means. I dare say it's good for the ageing brain.

I fear I'm the only blipper whose stuff I read who seems to be fretting quite so much about this asterisk virus and its effects.  I admire your restraint. Maybe it's the rain, or the just-missed holiday ...