What bliss to wake on a Sunday morning knowing that one will not have to rush down the stairs to intercept the postman or to sign for a seemingly endless stream of parcels for all and sundry. After a worse week than usual of this problem and with the increasing difficulty in dealing with stairs I raised a ruckas. Since the deliveries are seldom for me I have insisted that the boys club together and purchase a wireless intercom so that where ever I am I can speak to the blasted delivery man and tell him to wait. This should prevent having to charge down the stairs at risk to life and limb and should also prevent the continuous hammering from delivery men impatient to be gone.
I have observed that delivery men fall in to two categories, firstly there are the ones who knock as if attempting to wake the dead, wait two seconds and then knock even louder repeating the process until the door is answered or the knocker falls off ! Then there are those who knock once and then bugger off, I do not know which is worse.
Due to Pa,s mobility problems which are worse that my own and the fact that my son sleeps during the day or has is computer turned up so loud that he would not hear the crack of doom it is I and I alone who bears the brunt of this continuous disturbance and it is to me that rueful remarks are made if a parcel has to be collected from the depot or the knocking has disturbed someone's slumbers. All this will cease when the new gadget arrives, I have been dropping hints for quite a time, yesterday I stopped hinting and insisted that something was done forthwith, and should it not trouble would follow......job done !
Pa and I had bacon eggs and mushrooms for breakfast and then I spent some time packing my sons travel bag and rucksack for his holiday. I was nonplussed by the fact that the none to large hold all was more that half full of books......my sons travelling library. This made the packing difficult and in the end I wondered why I had taken such pains to iron his things before packing them...I shan’t again.
Several broken fingernails latter I ,managed to Ge the zips to close, I said sever rude words to each one as I struggled to close them without damaging them.
After that delightful episode I decided to devote the rest of the afternoon to wrapping Christmas presents, that perennial task which always falls to me,as does the writing of the cards. I shall have been married for forty years next June and ins ll that time I swear upon my honour that Pa has not written a singe Christmas card, not one! It is as if the men folk still believe that Father Christmas does it all. Here is on magic fairy who has had enough, one of these days I shall say ”Humbug to the lot of them.”
Actually it was quite a pleasant afternoon, wrapping gifts in my cosy room while the cat chased the rolls of ribbon under the bed and got sticky tape stuck to her paws. She loves Christmas and spends most of it roosting under the Christmas tree occasionally patting one of the bright baubles with a soft velvety paw.
For dinner tonight I made my sons favourite chicken and bacon pie with butter puff pastry
and sweet potatoes. He will be going on his trip straight from work in the morning so tonight is the last time I shall see him until next Sunday afternoon, I do hope that Pa behaves this time but I am non too sanguine on that score.
The nights are becoming chilly and I am glad to snuggle down under my furry rug each nigh. The old Tawny Owl comes every night to sit in the lime tree at the bottom of the garden, he hoots and hoots, a lovely sound. He foxes are spending less time together at the moment but that will all change soon as the breeding season for foxes begins in a few weeks and there have already been a few skirmishes one on which destroyed a large bed of leeks, hey ho, I still love the foxes and would not part with their company for the best and finest leeks in the world.
Towards evening a loud banging on the front door had me hurrying to answer it before the noise woke my son, the banging continued until the moment I opened the door to a man with a package in his hand. “My God .” I exclaimed “You are not working on Sunday now.”
He asked me if this was 1a , and I asked him what number was on the door he had so recently been abusing, and he muttered that it was number 1 and what number did it say on the gate you came through , again he admitted that it had the legend number 1 scribed across it.
I asked him what could be deduced from those facts then pointed him two doors down.
I am not usually so rude to callers but the idea that my precious Sundays are to be disturbed by deliveries made my blood boil and besides Imam sure that my sarcasm was wasted entirely, deductive reasoning was not his strong suit to be sure.
No comments:
Post a Comment