Praise the clockwork precision of an impersonal universe, Tesco seems to be restocked!
Or maybe I just got lucky this morning, before the crazy people arrived. Still the toilet roll supply is diminished. Will this nonsense never end? What is wrong with people (other than perhaps diarrhea) - there is no reason (other than perhaps diarrhea) for people to do this?
Here lies humanity, death by dearth of bog roll.
Some alien foreman in the Vogon Construction HQ, planning to build that hyperspace bypass through our pale blue dot, will gloss over that in the Galactic Obituaries section of the Interstellar Echo newspaper.
Toilet paper.
Flushed civilisation.
Tesco also doesn't seem to smell of disinfectant, but I may have visited between cleaning cycles. Staff still wear gloves. I still wear gloves, it's still bloody cold in the mornings. Still food appears to be on the shelves. As it should be - as it must be. There is no rationale for panic buying except fear. Sadly people are frightened. It's understandable. It's just not sustainable.
Now them, who's clapping?
I've never seen something so fundamental and so moving that ordinary people do, right on their doorstep. This is a message with real depth expressed so simply and yet so sharply. People care, Mr Johnson. But they don't care about you.
This expression cannot be corrupted or co opted, I feel. Don't dare to try and do so either, Tories, you will not win. This is real. It's not a confection; a manufactured sentiment like a greetings card. Every clap is a real expression of real human sentiment. That cannot be anything other than authentic. It cannot be faked.
The genie is out of the bottle now; the emperor's clothes are a canard. The days for this government must be numbered. They cannot endure this and we must make sure they don't. As was said upon the oh-so tragic demise of Maggie Thatcher (the milk snatcher):
Tramp. The. Dirt. Down.
Clap for support. Clap for life. Life will out.
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