Please, Mr Postman


Ah, we weren’t so PC in the Sixties, were we? My Postman is a woman – the lovely Norma.

Oh yes, wait a minute Mr Postman
Wait Mr Postman
Please Mr Postman, look and see
Oh yeah
If there’s a letter in your bag for me
Please, Please Mr Postman
Why’s it takin’ such a long time
Oh yeah
For me to hear from…

Norma does a great job and I have no complaints in that department. Noooo – it’s the so called Tracking Services that get my goat.

I’m waiting on some goodies from Hotel Chocolat – they apparently landed in Peterborough yesterday “for processing” with no update since then.

The USPS are no better – a parcel from Colorsong was dispatched the other day and all the information I can find is that it left Portland, Oregon. Where to? No idea!

Ah well, they will both reach me eventually and Norma will deliver them into my sticky mitts at that juncture.

Speaking of mitts… things are not going well at all. In short, I really do not want to be knitting them and will find any excuse not so to do. This does mean of course that my so-called Ferry Project is making wonderful progress –  without any requirement for me to catch any actual ferries.

The sun was shining again this morning – sufficiently well to cast strong shadows:

my specs on the kitchen table
my specs on the kitchen table

I’m going onto t he 4:3 routine from today so we had our second fast of the week today. We had a huge bowl of vegetable broth, undercutting our lunchtime calorie allowance by a considerable margin. Very tasty. There is plenty left for tea, should either of us feel able to eat any more. That is not looking likely, to be honest. I’m still feeling too pogged to be able to get on to the treadmill. I think I may do just a little more knitting instead – not on the mitts though. Oh, no, not on the Evil Mittens of Doom.

The big problem of course is that in 12 rows time, I shall have run out of ferry knitting.

That and the fact that I still have to do my tax return.

Recently, at the: Crooked House

A Month in France: Nothing is Lost

A Month in France: Nothing is Lost

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Oh, deer

Oh, deer

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