Friday 3 April 2020

No Pocketful of Rye

Two rows of unborn lettuce.
Lockdown continues with its odd little privations. Today I discovered that there is no rye flour in either Tesco or the local health food store. The local Polish grocery has closed, and the nearest is an hour's walk away through a rather dodgy neighbourhood. The organic shops aren't delivering to new customers, and eBay is carrying only enormous sacks. This rather puts a crimp in my plans to make my own zakwas for Polish Easter Soup.

A seller in Wrexham has a bottle of zakwas for sale--but for £10 plus £3 postage. I am not the kind of woman who would either sell or buy a product for £13 that normally costs £1.  I offered him £3 (plus the postage). He said no. "Profiteer," I sneered and clicked away. So there we are. No rye flour, no zakwas.

After work I asked the lady downstairs if she has any rye flour, but she has never even heard of rye flour. I'm starting to think all rye grown in Scotland is requisitioned for the whisky.

In the end I might have to buy a sad little packet of instant ┼╝urek power from Tesco because the thought of either walking through Scaryville or taking the Rough Bus during a pandemic fills me with  dread. Not to depress you, but a Detroit bus driver has perished of the Vile Germ. He fell ill four days after filming this.

Meanwhile I have planted lettuce and continued digging holes in the lawn. I had three sorties against the dandelion army: first thing in the morning, for half an hour at lunch, and then for an hour after work. At lunch our bachelor neighbour, who would be on an oil rig were he not on lockdown, came outside and reflected that my weeding the lawn in one metre squares reminded him of crime teams on police shows.

Wicked potentially germy trespassing cat.
"The lawn looks like a crime scene," I said ruefully, looking at the dirt bleeding all over the grass, and was rewarded with a chuckle.

In good health news, B.A. took our new exercise bike to the kitchen for a stationary spin, and after I came in from the garden I pedalled away in the dining-room/guest-room/office for 25 minutes. I will work up to my customary 45 minutes and then to an hour. Today for the first time B.A. and I did not go on our government-mandated one walk.

Besides B.A. and the neighbours, I spoke to sources on the phone, colleagues over the computer, worms in the ground and the trespassing black cat. Here he is trying to take possession of our pallets.


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