Suddenly our principal characters are thrown off the cast of the homely, Saturday night drama, the put-on your-slippers-and-relax type, and find themselves in a very alternative ‘Hammer Horror.’
(Is that a knock at the door? Should I let whoever it is cross the threshold? Give me the garlic, the blond wig, and give me the cleavage.)
Our Hero now finds himself in the rather strange situation of having to live like a vampire, but without the necessary bite. He has to keep all of his skin covered in daylight because of the photosensitivity caused by the magical photosensitizing fluid that is used before the ‘light fantastic’ (the lasers used in photodynamic therapy. I think I will have to start doing footnotes). If he is not covered up in daylight - it doesn’t have to be sunshine - he could blister and burn.
Alas, he has rejected the hand-made, especially commissioned (and rather expensive) Elfin felt hat.
He has rejected the sleek skier’s version of the balaclava.
He has, however, accepted the rather attractive wrap-around shades.
So here is the key scene for today: Our Hero, who has managed, just, to eat another soft-boiled egg, is champing (as much as he can in the circumstances) to get out in the car and generally do un-heroic, normal things like chat to his (mostly women) friends in the local supermarket.
He writes a very long list of things he might want to eat, and the things that he thinks are needed by the household. Of course, his greatest concern is that The Hounds from Hell and The (M/M/M) Wife need to be fed because it appears that there is nothing around except for the ever-bubbling (now much vibe-thickened) soup.
The track from the house is covered in hard-packed ice and, obviously, it will take a hero to brave the ice and, more importantly, the supermarket.
It is, therefore, on with the gauntlets.
It is on with the wrap-around shades.
There are strict instructions that Our Hero is not to smile if suitable ‘cool’ is to be maintained.
And he is looking good – he will pass muster.
But then, from a pocket of a much neglected coat, comes the ‘old man’ hat.
Where did that come from? The (M/M/M) Wife is mortified – this was not the look she had in mind.
But this is a hero on a mission. He doesn’t give a damn. He is just so relieved that he can drive somewhere, anywhere, and do something normal.
And so The (M/M/M) Wife, and her very own, slightly tooth-challenged, Nosferatu slide down the track to look for provender in the wilds of Tesco.
There is much gazing at the aisles and there is much filling of the trolley.
But they still haven’t quite worked out what is suitable food for our very heroic, slightly toothless hero.
Shush. Keep very still.
Did you hear that?
Listen carefully.
Can you hear the blood curdling howls coming from the moors? Was that the cry of The Hounds?
(Don’t be ridiculous! They are basking next to the warmth of Ancient Aga – they are badly behaved, but not stupid!)
