I do like living in a village.
About 10 days ago the postie delivered what was obviously a birthday card, but it wasn’t for me. Post has to be delivered to the address rather than the name, and it certainly had my address on it. The reason that post has to be delivered to the address and not the name goes back to a rather lurid test case a century or so ago when the lover of an adulterous woman sent his letters to her neighbour poste restante. I cannot remember the details, but I said it was lurid, so you know it ended badly. And ever since the whole thing came out in court post has been delivered to the address and not the person. Though I could be wrong, not being a postie or a lawyer.
When I finally saw the postie this morning I was able to show it to him and he looked at it and thought for a bit. ‘Richardson…. ‘ he said. ‘There’s three of them in the village…. K…. that’ll be number 33’.
A pleasing way to start the weekend. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have two books from Amazon which have just arrived.