Road rage

[ladyofastolat]

What is it with today? Why does every living thing on this island feel the need to blunder in front of my car? Has my car been hit with an invisibility ray? Has some joker pinned a notice to my car reading, "Free cakes!" or "Bet you can't tag ME!" I was only driving to a small school about ten minutes into the country, and then back through town. As my route took me past a supermarket, I made a very quick trip into it to buy weekend cider. (See Appendix A for cider-related rant.) In that time, the following things blundered in front of me:
- Four bunnies
- Three old ladies meandering with shopping trolleys
- Two pheasants
- One red squirrel
- One baby in a buggy, pushed out by unheeding mother
- One taxi that decided to change lane on a roundabout into the exact place where I was, but he indicated after he'd forced me to do an emergency stop, so that's okay, then.

Luckily, I missed all of them, but the repeated emergency stops now mean that all the Morris sticks and storytelling books in the car are now gathered, snowdrift-like, at the front of the car, and I'm very glad the cider isn't due to be opened until tomorrow, or we'd be looking at a redecorated kitchen. The red squirrel was particularly alarming, since anyone who squashes a red squirrel has to report it to the authorities, and risk being vilified, and hounded off the island.

Appendix A: Said supermarket trip being necessary because our home-made wine has run out, and the local shops don't do any decent cider. I think CAMRA needs to adopt cider, too. Most small shops seem to have a selection of real ales, but their cider is dire.

Comments

Re: Chardonnay

[ladyofastolat.livejournal.com]

Oh, gosh, you don't want to drink Chateau Salle d'Utilie. I wouldn't dare feed it to Bacchus. Every innocent who's drunk it so far has been very thoroughly ill - probably because it tastes like fruit juice, so they drink it in fruit juice quantities, before suddenly realising that fruit juice it aint.

Re: Chardonnay

[jane-somebody.livejournal.com]

That *exactly* describes my experience at a certain Celtic Festival, though I believe the culprit in that instance was the vin de peche of one J.O. I would say that the whole experience was a memorable one, except for the fact that large chunks of it were precisely non-memorable. The getting helplessly locked in a triangular toilet while nauseous and dizzy, though, remains etched in my mind in a nightmarish way. As, less nightmarishly, does emerging from Pellinor's kindly offered bed at dawn to find him and you and Skordh and Bunn and a few others still up and singing ;-) Ah, we were younger and more resilient then (and in my case less allergic to alcohol, though now I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't a connection...)