All morning I have been delivering Flower Show Schedules and Flower Show Committee letters to the majority of the 200 houses in the village, most of which seem to have new PVC doors, and my hands are sore with the effort it takes jamming an envelope through a bristle lined letterbox which is designed to keep anything and everything on the outside of the home rather on the inside.
My heart goes out to the postman. Faced with these plastic gin traps, I'd rather cope with picking up my giro every two weeks rather than earn a salary from the Royal Mail.
Anyhow , in the great scheme of things, I suppose, whinging about a "tight box " isn't the most important, so I shall finish my coffee and will get stuck in with gardening.
I'm drinking my coffee at the kitchen table. Mary is sat opposite, on the Prof's chair watching my every move. She slept with us last night because something scared her in the kitchen at 2 am and she barked the house down.
I wondered just why I was so tired today.
Anyhow I shall leave you with the Prof's latest Twitter comment.