TIE UP THE DOOR KNOCKER AND TAKE THE BATTERIES OUT OF THE DOOR BELL!

Intent upon tackling the ironing and packing my sons case for his holiday I made Pa and I a quick breakfast of boiled eggs with bread and butter before packing him off to the shops.


Numerous visitors throughout the week have left me behind hand with just about every blessed thing and panic was beginning to set in.

I cleared the kitchen popped out into the garden to put the scrambling nets up for the sweet peas and to check that the fleece over the strawberry beds had not blown away. All was well and I returned f=refreshed to the house to tackle the hated ironing.
Suitcase at the ready I packed as I ironed and first the trousers then the shirts and at last the T shirts were ironed and packed away, I was pleased that I had finished with time to spare but , oh dear”pride goeth before a fall.” No sooner had this vagrant thought escaped than a knock at the door sent me to a meeting that was to take up the whole afternoon and cause endless trouble in to the bargain.
Such a nice young man selling a broad band package about which I knew absolutely nothing,so ignorant are Pa and I on such matters that it is my son who deals with all of this sort of thing.

Speaking for myself I rather fancied the sound of the deal, indeed only a couple of days ago my next door neighbour was extolling the virtues of just such taken by him a year or so ago. According to him we are not getting a very good deal from who ever we are with. Tea and cakes went down well with the young man who looked frozen , he spoke of his family,his faith and hardly said a word about the product.
I asked the young man to returning the evening quit forgetting that my son needed to leave home early tonight for a meeting, thankfully I ha his telephone number and we were able to explain what had happened, even so I felt so sorry for the young man .
My sons case is packed at last nothing short of a miracle, it took me a whole hour to locate a pair of pyjamas in the black hole he euphemistically calls a wardrobe, resorting in the end to emptying the whole of its considerable contents out on the landing and literally wading in until I found the missing garments. My son never wears pyjamas at home and only takes them away on holiday were he does not wear them either..............strange are the ways of men!
Seven days have now elapsed since we had a day without callers and the clock is ticking, I confess that I am beginning to feel rather anti social. Oh well, at least my sons wardrobe looks less like the back room of an Oxfam shop and the mystery of the vanishing underpants is now solved...but that is another story!