For lunch, I went to Bert’s fish-and-chip shop.
As I approached the shop, up a gentle incline, an old lady was heading downslope towards me. She seemed a little flustered, fiddling with an umbrella she was carrying. The old lady must have been aged about 80. She was quite sturdy of build, but was stooped, and her hair was whitish grey.
I was the third and last person in the queue inside the shop. Slightly to my surprise, the old lady entered the shop. I let her jump the queue to be ahead of me. She ordered: “Small chips and roe.” In fact, Bert’s offers just one standard portion-size for chips; and I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone ask for roe there before. However, it is on the menu, the old lady didn’t have to wait for it to be cooked, and it seemed very reasonably priced at 65p. The old lady’s total bill was £1.65.
The only member of staff I saw at Bert’s was Short Woman. I think Junior must have cooked my fish and chips, as they were not as crisp as I prefer them.
At Peakville Infirmary, the Old Man’s mental state was much the same as on the Friday.
In the evening, I mowed the two lawns at the side of the Old Man’s house.
[Original posting 7 August 2011]