All is calm
In the swimming pool, all is calm. A normally busy afternoon lengths session is thinned to a handful of swimmers, and I have a whole lane to myself. It’s not yet the university holidays, so I’m surprised at how quiet and peaceful the sports centre is.
On my way home I head to the big supermarket nearby for a bag of bread flour and a few bits and pieces for dinner. As I lock my bike up outside the shop, I notice there are more cars in the carpark than normal for a weekday afternoon, and inside I’m met by apocalyptic scenes. Hundreds of terrified Brummies react to Johnson’s “sort yourselves out, and don’t bother calling us unless you’re dying” speech by skipping work and emptying the shelves of grains, tins, long life milk, toilet paper, and the supermarket’s entire range of cleaning products.
In the flour aisle, all that remains is a single bag of organic 00 pasta flour, the rest of the shelving unit stripped bare.