STIR CRAZY!……

I think I am having empathy with those caged lions! Apart from a dash to the health centre and our two hour lunch on Wednesday, I have not been out of the house for six days.

Either that or Friday is my “bad ” day. This particular morning I felt restless and anxious, the knot was back in my stomach and a headache hovered around the back of my eyes.

The four walls of my house and the furniture were beginning to irritate me, even sitting in the garden did not help.

Grrrrrrrrr!!!!!

Michael goes to the local market three times a week, to buy the vegetables and food then insists on struggling home on the bus. Spurning the, car as he has a bus pass and the shopping trolley I bought, as it would “ruin my reputation as an international playboy”!!

( I am sure struggling by along with heavy bags does lots for his image, but you can’t argue with him)

l only realised how important these market visits are to him , when I tried to start shopping online. …in my way saving him the hassle . But he got really upset.

I realised I was taking a way his role as the shopper and also the market was a valuable social contact for him. He not only shops but meets “his public” as he puts it, the stall holders he has known for years many of whom are his friends.

So I loaded him in the car and took him to the market.

Nobody else I know, shops on the market. preferring the more convenient hours and free parking of the local supermarket chain, or even the more convenient on-line system….. but then most people I know have jobs and so just don’t have access to market hours.

Supermarket prices are often lower than the market and it is arguable if the quality is any better. I do however feel better knowing that my hard earned money is ging to a local independent trader rather than the shareholders of some global exploitative company

So as we sat in the deli having a cup of tea I was fascinated to watch the people. Most were foreign, Bolton has an ethnically diverse population. Indian South East Asian, African, eastern European. Then there were the grey brigade. Who are retired and have the time to come to the market and for whom the habit of market shopping has always been a way of life. Then there was the odd young white shopper and I wondered what brought them here.

Michael, smiled and was greeted warmly by the stallholders. People stopped to talk to us. Took their time shopping. I listened to the shouts of the stallholders and the jokes. I watched other people stopping and talking to friends laughing and smiling. Much better than a quick dash around the impersonal supermarket on the way home from work. Running the risk of impatient shoppers banging their trolleys into your legs or the wrath of the person behind you in the checkout queue when you dare to attempt to count out cash.