Descent into barbarism in Berkshire

The so-called heat (it was 78F -- that's a heatwave to the Brits) may be why everyone seemed a bit crazy today. My misadventures in how a very little heat can rattle people not used to it began with two guys blocking the door at the post office. One hands over a wad of cash, while the other promises to pay it back soon and pleads with the first man not to lose his passport, as then he won't be able "to get nothin' cashed". The first guy, gripping a huge can of Stella (at a quarter past three in the afternoon), brushes him off with assurances. Now, why would you give someone your passport anyway? "It's better not to know" my husband replied ominously when I told him of the encounter. I'd guess it was some type of loan/collateral situation.

Then my hip-and-happening day took me to Poundland for a microwave egg poacher and a copy of Tommy on DVD for a quid each. While waiting in line, I was treated to "Drunk old dude in Poundland" theater. A little old man in a suit was shouting loudly to the woman checking out at the register next to him: "Do you want me to say it nicely or do you want me to say it rudely?!!!" She went on about how he cut in front of her, and he can't do that just because he'd had a drink, she wasn't going to let him get away with that. He repeated his question a few more times before yelling "F*** off!" a couple of times and teetering out the door.

I'd had enough drama at Poundland, so I toddled off to Boots. On the way there, I heard a woman talking about how "it was like stepping into an oven." I guess she meant the "heatwave." She better never go to Alabama, not even in the winter, if 78 with a cool wind is a heatwave. It's amazing how by the time temps are in the 60s, people pull out the shorts and flip-flops.

A few people were red-faced and pouring sweat from the "heat," and I'll skip my other minor misadventures for now. Let's just say I finished up at the grocery store, bought some wine, and headed for home, far from the madding crowd. Ahh, it's good to be home. When I told all the news to my hubby, he said "Descent into barbarism in Berkshire." Now how can I not post about it when I have a title like that hanging around, eh?