Burniture is furniture for the bedroom.
There is a particularly useful kind of delicatessen, where you can buy nuts and bolts and fuse wire.
We have a milkman. (Is that a gender specific term?). He is about 85. Our semi-skimmed comes in glass bottles. He drives a little red van and he can't reverse. I fear Ms M will snaffle him in one of these days and adopt him.
The postman brings the papers. He says you can tell a lot about people from their post. Ms M says that all postmen (and women) have a secret identity. He is probably a
It is still possible in our village of 51 people to have a paper delivered on a Sunday. It is arranged through the post office 3 villages away, who used to run a Sunday paper service. A man from the next village past ours goes down sometime on Sunday morning and collects them from that post office. Then he leaves them under the carport of our postoffice. The far-away post office produces a bill monthly. This is paid at our post office, along with an extra 50p for each delivery. They give nice-man-in-next-village-up the 50ps and then pay our bill for us. Of course.
I leave you with this ...
Ms M: I just don't think I have the energy to do a jigsaw ...
Apparently, I am a high-pressure jigsaw dooer. Some sort of "Hurry Up Driver" or something.
I'm sure there are worse things to be.
Labels: random brain dump