I think I might have a bat-flu related mental dysfunction.
It has been so long since I have been properly out and about in places that are not Windermere that I have managed to get myself into a complete flap in Kendal today.
It is only Kendal and I have been there before, lots of times, but today I had six or seven things to do. I got confused and flappy and had to keep going backwards and forwards all over town because I had forgotten things.
There were so many things that needed doing that I had made a list, which I left at home on the table, and so I had to concentrate really hard on remembering them.
I had to get some new keys cut for the camper van, because it would be dreadful if we lost ours and then couldn’t go anywhere in it ever again. Mark has said that there is no need to worry, because he is perfectly capable of hot-wiring a vehicle in a moment of need, especially the camper van, which does not employ even the smallest gesture towards modern security. It was born some time before central locking was invented, and you have got to unlock every door with its own key. The key to the driver’s door is long lost, I do not think we have ever had it. If you are not an athletic sort of driver then somebody else has to get in on the passenger side and wriggle across to let you in.
The man at the key cutting shop sighed and squinted and said that he might be able to order one, maybe, perhaps, if we were really lucky, and he would give me a ring in a week or two. I thanked him profusely and thought I would try the other key cutting shop, but then I forgot, because of not having a list to cross things off.
After that I went to the shop that sells pens, because I needed a new craft knife. They do not put craft knives on the shelves. You have got to go and ask at the till and then hang about hopping from one foot to another whilst they go and see what they have got in the back.
When she brought them I did not really want any of them, because they were the wrong shape and too expensive, but felt so guilty about making the enormous queue wait for ages whilst the till girl had been hunting through the storeroom that I bought one anyway. I expect I will get used to it.
After that I went into TK Maxx, because Oliver needs some flip flops. He is size eight now, and his little size four flip flops are no good to him any more, so I wear them, because they still fit me.
When I found the flip flop rack there were rows and rows of flip flops, all in size order, except the size eights, which were in a large pile on the floor with a cross-looking shop assistant sorting through them. She sighed and rolled her eyes and said that I was welcome to look at them if I really must, but they weren’t sorted out and I would just have to take my chances if I was feeling brave.
I agreed to do this, gravely, because of not feeling endangered by a pile of flip flops. It was more difficult than I had imagined it would be, because most of the men’s ones were a different shape, which I thought Oliver would not like. The others were pink or yellow, or didn’t have a size written in them. Some even had heels. I can hardly imagine why somebody might want heels on flip-flops, perhaps that was why they were still in the shop in a pile on the floor.
In the end I found a pair, and was just putting them in my bag when my eye was caught by the most beautiful flip flops I have ever seen.
They were covered in pink and blue orchid like flowers, and they were lovely, so I tried them on.
They felt horrible.
They were slippery and narrow and mis-shapen around the toes, but they were so beautiful.
I stood with them in my hand for ages, staring at them and dithering, unable to believe that something so pretty could be so ghastly. I even wondered if the other pairs might somehow be a different shape, which obviously they weren’t.
I wagged about for ages, almost returning them to the rack, and then snatching them back at the last moment, whilst the cross shop assistant waited for me to go away, and sighed and snorted on the socially-distanced floor next to me.
In the end common sense prevailed, and I did not purchase footwear that would make my feet miserable, but I wondered about it for ages afterwards.
I have always got Oliver’s old ones.
I was still pondering this dilemma when I bumped into Trevor, who is the deaf taxi driver of my acquaintance. We had a few moments of bellowed conversation, on which most of Kendal must have inadvertently eavesdropped, before I made some rubbish excuse and fled.
I went back to my taxi, and sat quietly in the dark car park for a little while until I had collected myself sufficiently to drive home. It all seemed to have been very full of noise and people, and worse, they were all gliding about ghost-like with their faces hidden by the loathsome masks.
When I got home I stopped by the chemist to collect a prescription, and was overwhelmed with gratitude for the safe tranquility of Windermere. It was not very tranquil, we are still crawling with visitors, but it is safe. I know what the butcher’s sausages taste like, and I know what sort of birthday cards are on sale in the post office. I know where to buy string and cheese and toothpaste and ink.
Kendal seems to have been very busy and exciting in comparison.
I expect it is a result of months and months of compulsory staying at home. It looks as though my spirit of adventure has become very easily sated indeed. No longer do I need to hightail it off to Manchester or London or Paris for my thrills. It appears that actually Kendal will do just fine.
I suppose at least it is going to be cheap.
The picture is Oliver doing a dance performance at school earlier on this week. I know it is in no way related to this diary entry but I wanted to show you anyway.
