Middle aged?

My first thought upon returning to Town on Saturday was, ‘Oh good, they’ve finished laying the cobblestones on Market Street. It looks really nice.’ Over dinner, my housemate updated me on other town news. The butcher was buying the import shop. A colleague was moving to London. The Government decided to close the RAF base near us. Miss Kitty had visited the garden. This afternoon I went to Morrisons for my weekly shop. I tend to write out my grocery list according to the store’s layout to make it easier to find things. Only, Ros forgot to warn me that during my three weeks away Morrisons had completely, and randomly, rearranged the entire store. I spent much longer in a very crowded shop with other equally confused shoppers, muttering under my breath that it couldn’t be possible that the beef section had vanished, and where on earth was the pasta? I found everything in the end, but left the shop very disgruntled. I complained to Ros and was reminded once again that despite being in our mid-twenties, we can be quite ‘middle aged’…