Parallel Worlds
I decided to go to the meet of one of the local hunts, to be held, in the customary manner, at a pub along the old Gloucester road. Such meets traditionally are arranged for late morning to give everyone sufficient time to sort out hounds, horses and themselves before travelling to the designated place. Being late is impolite. This meant that I had time to go to the supermarket and do the large weekly shop, trekking down the aisles with my trolly, calculating the comparative costs of packed versus loose vegetables and standing patiently to pay at the checkout. Life as so normal.