B&Q in Waltham Forest is like the branch that time forgot.
I was up early-ish this morning, and with the weather so glorious, I thought I'd take advantage of London's lie-in (the roads don't seem to get busy until about midday at weekends) to go and get some paint I needed at B&Q. So off Jessica*, the Corsa and I toddled to Leyton.
They have a splendid "Entrance" sign... with a bollard right in the middle of it. Luckily I am trained to spot such things, so drove round the corner and found my way into the carpark. I entered the store. There were no trolleys. I asked the security man where the trolleys were. He laughed and cryptically said, "You might find some outside. Sometimes they are £1. Sometimes they are free. If you are lucky, you might get a cheap one."
I went back outside and located a trolley. It was free.
I came back inside. The store was dingy and the aisles were too close together, but I located the paint, and after dithering for a little while about whether I needed special kitchen paint for the kitchen or if wipe-clean matt would do (my life is so exciting), I was ready to make my purchase.
During my dithering, a small crowd had gathered outside. After putting my paint back into my free trolley to take it to the car, I realised why. There was a man lying on the ground of the B&Q car park, laughing with blood pouring out of his head. Everyone was standing in a circle round him. One person was on the phone - I think - calling an ambulance. (Or perhaps recording him as an ultimate happy slap.) I would have offered to help, except the "victim" couldn't stand and seemed to find this very funny. He rolled around the floor a lot, giggling to himself. I rather suspect he may not have been entirely sober or drug free.
So by eleven this morning I had already had an adventure. It has generally been a productive week. I have completed an exam, baked a cake, learned (and forgotten) the various positions in rugby, read two novels, Plogged fairly regularly, finally won a game of online Scrabble and bought paint. I am wondering how I ever managed to fit a full-time job in. Sadly, I suspect I will be able to answer this on Monday, as my three lovely weeks of annual leave come to a close.
* For infrequent Ploggers, Jessica is not my life partner, but my satellite navigation system.