The Zombie Apocalypse

Disclaimer: The misanthropic views in this post are entirely my own and not to be taken seriously justified.

Today, those of us in the UK will be receiving phone pings in a few minutes as a test of the government’s alert system in the event of attack, natural disasters, pollution incidents, the discovery of an honest politician, or other low-probability but earth-shattering events.

I fear it is too late.

Upon emerging from life drawing class the other day, in the city centre on a sunny Saturday lunchtime I realised that I had only ten minutes to reach the bus station to get my bus home.

So I set off by the most direct route – straight down the main shopping street.

After the first 100 yards of dodging slow-moving people wandering aimlessly, walking three-abreast or looking at their phones the relaxation of the previous two hours was undone.

The zombie apocalypse is upon us. Some time during the pandemic the British public was replaced by shambling hordes of the undead.

Not even interesting zombies either. Not the fast moving ones of 28 Days Later, nor the humorous ones of the Evil Dead franchise. Nope – these are the shuffling OG zombies of the George Romero movies.

Except rather than seeking brains to eat, they seem to be lacking ones to actually use.

I recounted this tale to my wife on my eventual return home. She was not at all surprised, being a supermarket worker since the pandemic. She tells me some of the zombies are bright enough to operate shopping trollies, but not bright enough not to block aisles with them whilst having monosyllabic communications with others in the horde.

She did, however, also point out that I could have avoided the buggers entirely had I gone up castle hill and down the other side to the bus station: Zombies not being interested in history, or in climbing hills apparently. I will remember for next time.

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