Most days the postman hands me letters, which are either:
- Demanding payment; or
- Explaining I have less in the bank than I thought; or
- Pleas for donations; or
- Offering double glazing and two for one wisdom teeth extractions; or
- Selling me a variety of curries, pizzas and some rather strange fishy exotics
But today the postman and I shared a smile because I received a post card – what my nana called a ‘ppc’: she was always ahead with the acronyms – from Charli Mills way out yonder in Idaho – indeed, from where I sit, Charli is probably yonderer than that.
I haven’t had a postcard in yonks. Made my morning, you see because she knows that I am incapable of grown up behaviour near elastic ropes. This post from December last year for those who weren’t visiting here then might explain it.