It's lockdown and ASDA is the Devil.

Not to me, mind. To me, it is a necessary

evil, but to my greyhound it's Satan

in a steel-framed mask. Why?

Who knows. It looms at the end of

our road smirking and winking rakishly,

knowing full well that all other walks

have already been ruined and this is

the only one left.

It's not the first glimpse that makes

her freeze, no. Instead, the grim

reality of its open maw up close solidifies her,

petrified. Greyhound granite. My own Sisyphean

task. I tug on the lead. Of course that doesn't work.

ASDA is the Devil, after all.

And so it became a daily spectacle, a

voiding sharing air and eye contact

as I lugged my 25-kilo hound,

heavy as a weekly shop, past the supermarket.