A welfare check for Mrs A presented a good opportunity for a lunchtime run along largely familiar roads (so no risk of getting lost then...) to Upper Clapton. The run itself in the sunshine was pleasant, the odd loud shouty pedestrian aside, but unfortunately, after a couple of loud knocks at the front door, it appeared Mrs A wasn't in.

Mr M greeted me warmly, and before I'd even got my phone out of my pocked to take down the list, he'd issued his instructions for this week - 3 potatoes, 2 tomatoes, 3 vegetable soup - and with that I was off to Tesco to hunt for his treasure.

It seems Sardines are in short supply at the moment - another week where the shelves were bare of all varieties (albeit there were no little gems nor courgettes either). Mr R is convinced that people are stockpiling "essentials" in preparation for "something". Occasionally doorstep conversations with Mr R can take a darker tone...