Rainy and successful road trip, headed home, some non-chronological diary musings: The Smiddy was fully booked up. Perhaps short staffed in the kitchen. Nobody wants to wait 35 minutes for a table these days. We could hover but ... we moved on and out of their well designed and fully functioning car park (Nice coffee and cake snaffled from a friendly stall and some very clean toilets).
The age old Christmas spirits of exploitation and bankruptcy of thought are big in the garden centres in early November. Tinsel, cold cheer and chilly chips.
A clutch of old folks queuing* up for soup in Dobbies on a Sunday afternoon. A glimpse into either our near future or present reality. There was plenty of tomato soup left but the lentil and bacon was running low. A potential red flag in an outlet full of red flags.
What isn't for you is against you.
We looked at the numbers and the offerings and just thought "fuck it, let's get ourselves back in the car, home in one piece and order a Chinese". So that's what we did.
The act of waiting in a line of people, often to buy something:
"After an hour of queuing, a guard said it was only another two hours to the ticket booth."
"There were plenty of staff on hand when checking in, which meant less queuing."
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