This morning I had a plan.
I needed to go and pick up a bag of chicken food from the local feed store and decided to try to kill several birds with one stone.* I grabbed a parcel that needed to be posted and a honey bucket that needed to be returned to Pete the beekeeper.
Smugly I mentally ticked off items on my to do list as I clambered in to the Land Rover and set off towards the village post office. Unfortunately I had messed up my astronomical, floral and faunal observations and the bloody place was closed. "No worries" I thought, as I had a vague recollection of there being a post office close to the feed store.
As I drove over to Redditch I caught sight of the post office just before I turned in to the feed store, where I learnt that they were out of growers pellets. Apparently a chap had come in on Monday and bought their entire stock. My first thought was "bollocks", but an optimism neuron fired and I realised that, at least, I could get the damned parcel posted.
Two minutes later I was heading towards feed store #2 in Feckenham,* where I was politely informed that they only stock layers pellets.
Arseholes! Our supplies were very low and I couldn't recall experiencing a situation like this in all the years we have kept poultry. I grabbed my phone and gave feed store #3, over at Bromsgrove, a call. Their customer service was brilliant, as they confirmed that they had growers pellets and even went to check the stock levels. I was delighted that I had located a supply, but then needed to drive another ten miles to collect the feed.
In all my forty minute errand took all fucking morning, I'd driven twice as far as I had planned and I failed to return Beekeeper Pete's honey bucket.
The afternoon was slightly more productive, as I managed to prepare, blanch and freeze two of the celeriac stems that I dug yesterday.
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* It's probably worth stressing that this errand should have taken forty minutes at most ... forty minutes, less than an hour, not very long at all really.
** minus the parcel
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