So, what have we learned? Bank Holiday Monday hours are not a schedule; they are a suggestion written in disappearing ink. They are a prank played by the ghost of a Victorian postmaster.
My advice? Embrace the chaos. Check three different websites, call ahead (they won’t answer), and then accept your fate. If the shops are closed, go outside. Sit on a damp bench. Watch a dog chase a seagull.
Because the only thing more surprising than a closed shop on a Bank Holiday is finding one that’s open. And if you do? Buy a lottery ticket. You’ve already beaten the odds. Just don’t expect to be able to cash it in until Tuesday.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check if the hardware store is open. I’m pretty sure I saw a light on. It was probably a reflection, but I’m feeling lucky.
