I spent most of my time backing off from the advancing six foot not bothered youth with phone stuck between hunched shoulder and ear. The yellow and black diagonal tape markings on the floor were clear and respected by most of the night hawks. Either they meant nothing to him or respect and concern for others was a a concept for his evolutionary future, if he should make it that far. Having enquired of the kind assistant of the whereabouts of the shelf for rice, we established that Uncle Ben's smiling-faced marketing-ramped-priced sachets were the only option. I headed for the alcohol aisle for consolation. A bottle of 7.3% McEwans Champion Special edition and a 2017 Montepulciano D'Abruzzo would ease my disappointment. All was going well right up to my payment at the till. Spot on, I thought as I transacted my purchase with my first ever cashless payment card at the check out, impressed with the substantial new glass barrier in front of the smiling check out human. I was feeling good. As I turned to make my exit, the architect of doom was heading towards me ignoring all ante and in-play crisis norms. I instantly and understandably surmised that his Hello sweetheart greeting was not for me but for the gracious cashier now over my shoulder. My martial arts were somewhat rusty and I had foolishly left my Gletcher Parabellum under my pillow that very morning. My senses disoriented by nine days of glorious solitude I became the passive recipient of the advancing intrusion of this don't give a fuck geezer. And so my fate was sealed. I am presently attempting to fend off all manifestations of virulent assault with the rice substitute purchases while upgrading my skills with a re-watch of Enter The Dragon. Be like water, my friend.
To be continued ...
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