This little piggy

I found out last night that as of 18 Jan, there will be no going to market for me. (Not for me to be sold, slaughtered, butchered and served up on the dinner plates of some unsuspecting carnivorous family, I mean going to market as in buying some poor cow that this has happened to. I'm not a good; I'm a consumer.) Sometimes I gasp in wonderment at the powers that be. I remember growing up, hearing my dad do his nut at just how stupid politicians are and how I used to think quietly 'get a grip, Dad,' but finally, now that I'm all grown up and mature and doing the nine to five and paying a goodly sum of tax to boot, that I now find myself constantly amazed (albeit without the overt and raucous reaction) at just how stupid politicians can be. I wrote a while ago that half of my suburb had pretty much been torn down: an arcade with a supermarket and a whole load of local businesses, along with the local second had market. Now I find that the only other supermarket in the suburb is closing in a little over a week, leaving us marketless until... I don't know... how long does it take to build a supermarket? So who, in the local council, decided that it would be a good idea to allow the redevelopment of both major shopping centres in the suburb at the same time? It's summer. I like to walk. I like to walk to the supermarket to pick up milk & bread and other such rapidly consumed consumables. Where do I walk to now? To a hole in the ground? I have to take the car now, to neighboring suburbs, where I'll have to fight for parking spaces, see checkout operators I've never seen before and with whom I have not built up a rapport. I like that on the odd occasion, the conversation at Woolies goes beyond the 'How's your day?' phase. They recognise me and I know them. Hell, I live in a community and I'm actually pretty fond of that. So I might as well move from Norwood to Unley now. There it's already busy, crowded and hectic and I already don't know anyone there. RIP Norwood