Stockpiling

I've written one earlier post on this subject in which my solution for March 29th is to be in Paris with my pets. But work renders that impossible. So here we are.

The dinner party comprised of home made sweet potato and spinach samosas, a cheese fondue followed by an impromptu camembert, brandy baskets full of fruit and sorbet, and my home made truffles. There was beer, there was wine, there was whisky, there was talk.

An irony not lost on me was the talk of stockpiling for a no deal Brexit. I was surprised to learn that one of my most down-to-earth mates is actually doing this, surprised that this isn't just some combo of survivalism meets blitz nostalgia on Mumsnet. All I could feel was a kind of baffled anger. This cannot really be a thing can it?

My mate thinks so, obviously. Should we stockpile? Where would we keep it all? If there was really a problem, our garage would be childs play to break into, and I don't fancy that as an option, least of all if my husband's in Edinburgh. And anyway, what would we stockpile? Rice? Catfood? How much and for how long? It's ridiculous.

My mate doesn't think so. But then my mate has children so probably a greater sense of caution. We should be fine. I think.

Getting too close to Jacob Rees Mogg.

Weird dream in which I was sharing a bed with Jacob Rees Mogg. He kissed me tenderly goodbye because he had to go somewhere, but he left his key behind. I was then woken up by a tremendous thudding at the front door. It was my husband who had left his carry case behind. He had to wake me up because he's lost his key.