Laughing All the Way to the Angel
The proposed fuel strike doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, as someone who can’t drive because of a stroke and has lost two of his nearest and dearest family in the last few years to cancer, I could claim that all of the bad news is being shared out a bit.
The strike does bring out the worst in people.
I do hope that no-one near me has stored a lethal amount of petrol in his front room and then decides to have a fag.
I’ve got a litre of goat’s milk in the fridge, which will last me three weeks. If things get tight, I can walk all the way to the Angel and because too many politicians live in Islington, the shops will be open.
My only problem is that I have a dental appointment in Notting Hill on the 4th and if the Underground runs out of electricity or the buses out of diesel, I won’t get there. But then, if that happens the country will be in total chaos, with tanker drivers the focus of everyone’s anger.
We live in interesting times.
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