|Two rows of unborn lettuce.|
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 żurek 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.
|Wicked potentially germy trespassing cat.|
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.