When I awoke I had grand visions of myself admiring Whitby Abbey today, perhaps wandering around the little town itself a bit, and in doing so qualifying another day as a proper “Juneathon Day”. Unfortunately, the old trout that is my mother, decided to be ill today. So the chances of being chauffeured to Whitby and back were scuppered.
It was probably a good thing. Because yesterday seems to have left my knees quite inflamed and unresponsive.
So I headed out into the back garden to do some sunbathing and a little crocheting. It was all very pleasant. There wasn’t even a whiff of yesterday’s problems. And then I discovered that we hadn’t got any diet coke left. There wasn’t a single bottle left in the house. Panic set in.
And that was when Day 9 of Juneathon began in earnest.
We have a small village shop, but I’ve been inside less than a handful of times even though mum has lived here for a decade. (I don’t actually live here, in Yorkshire. I just happen to be staying here at the moment. My home is Swansea in south Wales, 300 miles away. But, I digress.) And at this point in time (6pm) there was a chance that the shop would still be open. So, I decided to catch two birds with one stone and head to the village shop and get my Juneathon exercise in at the same time.
Although this blog post is headed “Diet Coke run”, there was sadly no running involved. I walked at as brisk a pace as my knees would allow: but that was only at about the pace of a small, elderly turtle. And 300m later I arrived at the shop.
Closed village shop
But it looked decidedly closed. I walked a further 150m, sat down, perused the world around me for a little while and then turned back home.
But when I passed the shop on my way back, someone hopped out of a car and went inside! Doesn’t that look like a shop that has closed for the night to you? It certainly did to me. But thanks to that person, my Diet Coke run was a success. The walk home with 4 coke bottles in my bag was rather difficult. The slow, elderly turtle pace had turned into the pace of a slow, elderly turtle who would very soon be in possession of a nice stone saying “I told you I was ill”. But I managed it 😀
At this point, with the sweat streaming out of every pore, I felt like shouting “Woo Hoo!” and doing an air fist punch. But there was a bunch of children nearby who decided to shout: “Fatty’s doing a selfie! SELFIE!” So, I sort of didn’t bother, and went inside for a celebratory coke instead.