I’d spent the afternoon in the Covenstead witchcraft-themed Bed and Breakfast in the delightful company of
After the dark splendour of the Covenstead, the supermarket was a complete contrast in
Pok, Glastonbury’s modern-day troubadour, often seen busking in the High Street, was alongside me at the next self-service checkout, with his pull along ‘old lady’ trolley full of guitar. He reached the sliding doors of the shop just a moment before me and smilingly announced ‘Beat you!’ I told him he couldn’t beat me in a competition I didn’t know I was taking part in. I’ve known Pok for at least 25 years. I think we may even have met in the squatted Rainbow Centre in London before I moved to Glastonbury. We don’t chat often, but this being Glastonbury when we do there’s an easy, friendly familiarity.
I spot a piece of paper covered in handwriting on the floor outside the shop and pick it up, telling Pok I can’t resist these notes, always hoping one will reveal a mysterious secret, or perhaps the meaning of life. I can say this sort of thing to Pok, he’s done enough psychedelics to not think me mad.
One side of the paper is disappointing, just a couple of pub names and their Taunton postcodes.
I turn over the paper, expecting a shopping list, but the content is more mysterious:
46 Gift horse – separated
Lives in a big farmhouse
Iceland and Northern hols
Has kids. Pisces
6 foot, 13 st
Owns own home
Self-employed, lives alone
There’s the name of a town and a first name on the paper too, but I’ll keep those to myself.
Pok and I study the small, square piece of paper, the handwriting looks hurried. Perhaps it’s because I spent the afternoon with a couple of Spiritualist mediums, but my first thought is that it’s someone’s notes from a psychic reading, they’ve asked about relationships on the horizon and this was what ‘came through’. Pok pronounces “It’s a murder mystery!”. Perhaps he’s right, we’ve chanced upon some author’s rough sketch for a fictional character.
I tell Pok I’m surprised to find that I’m the more romantic of the two of us (after all, he is a troubadour and I’m just a cynical blogger). Pok says he thinks it’s a romance too…… followed by a murder mystery when they discover they’re not so suited after all. I cycle home chuckling to myself about the random encounters that happen daily in this small Somerset Town.
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