Up with the lark and on with the ironing. I’ve not done any for over a week. After half an hour’s ironing there was a frantic clattering at the front door. I assumed it was one or other of the fruits of my loin coming home, but as I went to open the door I recognised my next door neighbour through the glass. My heart sank as I saw a hand written note fall to the door mat as he walked off. Over the years relations with next door have been fraught (at best). I spoke with the chap at the weekend about the repairs I planned to make to his fence, and at the time all seemed well. However yesterday I’d switched on the pond filter. It had been switched off over the winter, and during that time he’d made comments implying that my pond was the cause of the local rat problem. I was fully expecting his note to be a demand for me to turn off the filter and fill the pond in. Instead it was a polite request that I use screws rather than nails to repair the fence.
On reading this, the whole incident must seem trivial, but the sense of dread I had when I saw him posting a note, and the sense of relief when I realised that all was well was indescribable.
I then had some excitement.
And having a brat-free evening we settled down to watch “Airheads” on DVD whilst consuming far too much red wine and port. A tough job, but someone has to do it…