ST JUST IN PENWITH, COVID-19, STOCKPILING & ROMAN SOLDIERS...

St Just in Penwith, The Veterans & Stockpiling...

So, this concerns St Just in Penwith during the opening week of March 2020. Near Cape Cornwall, St Just has always been rather a curious place to visit and on this occasion, I simply needed milk which was overpriced in Mousehole’s small community shop, hence stopping off in St Just. 

THE ST JUST MEMORIAL...

Immediately, an overbearing young woman was seen drifting along a street alongside the guy who runs a small antiques shop in the town. He had closed for a short break it appeared, but the woman had collared him and was so enthusiastic and loud and gushing and off the wall, that I was certain Candid Camera had returned to haunt our TV screens. 

She entered the shop like a squall and would exit in the same manner, leaving the owner looking rather bemused. But this was St Just…

ABOVE & BELOW: INSIDE ST JUST'S CHURCH...

Thus a cuppa was called for in a tea-room/bookshop which I had visited a few times before but on this occasion, a member of the kitchen staff and three rather well spoken ladies took the spotlight. A woman from the kitchen went outside to smoke a cigarette but as it was raining, she had nipped into the loo for the drag, leaving a smoke filled environment for the next person to pee and cough within. Badly done, madam, badly done… 

Ah, but what of the three witches, er, wrinklies, round the cauldron, er, table? Their discussion was about stockpiling. One of the three was clearly the oracle, her voice exuding authority and she pulled the strings as the trio commented rather too loudly. 

Rice… One woman was stockpiling rice. This idea, it was agreed was sound, as was the buying in of porridge and also the taking of vitamin C, although the rice hoarder was morbidly concerned about the disposal of her stockpile after the crisis was over.

Toilet tissue… There was a need, said one, to have enough toilet rolls in the house and as food was the main commodity being discussed, I really wondered whether the use of them would be anal, or oral… The oracle mentioned sheets of newspaper as a stop-crack, er, stop-gap but the worried witch, er, wrinkly, said that she read her newspaper online, at which point, I visualised her wiping her arse with an iPhone. It didn’t bear thinking about. So I didn’t.

It was like an interview for Witch Magazine’s advice on survival…

CURIOUS ST JUST...

Er, hang on here, surely there’s an opportunity for customised newspaper toilet sheets? Articles about Boris Johnson for Labour voters to use, Jeremy Corbyn articles for anyone with any sense to wipe their cracks upon, or articles about Birmingham City FC for Villa fans to enjoy using and vice-versa? I well remember newspaper being used in the outside loo when I was a kid and being careful not to turn any Villa news articles from monochrome to sepia… 

IMMEDIATELY BEHIND THE SHED LAY THE ONLY TOILET WE HAD AT THE HOUSE IN WARD END, BIRMINGHAM.
OUTSIDE IT WAS & THE TOILET PAPER/NEWSPAPER BECAME DAMP AS A RESULT...
...BEFORE USE...

After all, the ancient Romans famously used pieces of sea-sponges on sticks, reusable after swilling them, or when in battle, employing large leaves, handfuls of grass or moss, or even one hand, if hard pressed. And we are obsessed by hoarding bog rolls in these desperate times… Humbug.

I PLAYED THE ROLE OF A ROMAN CENTURION TOO...
NO SAD SPONGES THOUGH.

And another thing, I’ve washed my hands so many times, my fingers are as wrinkly as an eighty year old’s… Perhaps I’ll get into a supermarket for the early shopping slot for the elderly, if I display my shrivelled finger skin… 

Oops, no chance there though, as younger folks have been getting to those very supermarkets before the time-slot for the aged has begun and the rice, the fruit, the porridge, the vitamin C and the toilet rolls have by that time all been nabbed…