Our postman has a bad tendency to leave parcels leaning against our front door. Considering we live on a main road, across from a railway station, with a very small front yard, it’s not really surprising that we only receive every other Amazon parcel that gets despatched in our direction.
Fortunately, old postie had a brainwave this week, and managed to fill in one of those little cards informing me that I had to report to the sorting office in order to receive a box full of goodies. And just for once, they were all for me.
With grateful thanks to red clay, the night before last we watched The Princess Bride, which was delightfully camp, and close enough to the book to please me. Then we went to bed and listened to Willy Mason’s Where the Humans Eat, which skipped and jumped a fair bit, but we were too sleepy to investigate whether it was the disk or the dusty hifi that had the problem. The only thing I haven’t opened yet is The Hotel New Hampshire, but that’s only because I’m in the middle of The Catcher in the Rye.
A week’s worth of entertainment in a box; much appreciated.