If the zombies do ever come…

I get a bit worried sometimes. In truth, quite a lot. In the midst of complete serenity and ease, I can feel a ripple of anxiety. About anything. At any time. Whether the ripples turn in to waves is arbitrary. One recurrent worry is the threat of an apocalypse. Actually, thanks to reading a certain Mr Charlie Higson and watching The Walking Dead, a Zombie Apocalypse. I don’t take this fretting lightly, either. I have genuinely  wondered how much clawing and musty- shoving my front door could take before caving in. Agonised over what items to place in my family-sized survival back pack. More than anything, I have mused upon where in the world I would take my family to hide. Now that alone is a sleepless night for one such as me.

Oh, but then today the anxiety coincided with a trip to Lidl. Oh Lidl! Balm to my feverish imaginings.  I have no idea what the letters stand for, but for me they are ‘Lifeline in (times of) dire loathsomeness’. The simplicity of it all struck me. If the zombies do ever come, then I will go to Lidl. Fast. If you have never experienced Lidl, then please allow me to enlighten thee. You can find all of the usual supermrket fare.Economically. Then, in the beating heart of the place, you find the random aisle.

What a gallimaufry of survival consumerist possibility. Now, apocalyptic movies have told me that I will need a chainsaw for protection. Noted. You see, at Lidl you can buy a chainsaw SHARPENER! One can buy a medley of sharp and deadly-looking weapons for zombie-deflection, and even a toolbelt to keep them in. Why, there is even a bumper-size colouring book to entertain my toddler whilst I prepare my arsenal. Though why stop there? One can don a wardrobe fit for any zombie-survivalist, with running clothes and shoes decked out in mesh technology, lightweight jackets in breathable fabric, fitness accessories to make any SWAT team jealous!

You see, my brain works fast when anxiety-ridden. I’d thought all of this before I’d even passed the confectionary. All 20 metres of it. Sweets and sugary goodness that would make Willy Wonka throw in the towel. Yes, I thought, lots of sweets needed when creating an apocalyptic bolt-hole. Yet why reinvent the wheel? Lidl delivered once again. With glee I realised that the steel-poled roofwork offered an ideal place for an aerial fortress (I’ve never forgotten the forest-city in Robin Hood Prince of Theives). You see, such is the wonder of Lidl, that you can even buy a fabric and mirror sewing kit to replicate Kevin Costner’s costume whilst the undead mill around beneath you.

I was in daydream nirvana. Ensconced by my imaginings. For a moment, I even felt smug. Then my anxiety appeared once again, like Monty Python’s Spanish inquisition. As I glanced out of the windows and across the carpark I saw one of those mega-Landrovers growling to rest. You know the ones. Part machine, and part Godzilla. It  parked next to my diminutive Renault Clio. From the hermetically sealed interior emerged a man who wore his mirrored aviators with utter nonchalance. A fresh worry slammed in to me. If I was to survive, I’d need some new wheels.


© Tom Tide 2016

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