The Postman Bringeth...

And then generally returns with my parcels to the collecting office and I have to wait 48 hours for access - such is life. Be it a timely delivery via the agencies of the royal mail, my dodgy flat intercom, and a late start to work, or the delayed gratification of waiting for 2 days before trudging along to a small room tucked down a dodgy side alley near the train station (that’s where the collecting office is, it’s not just somewhere I go to hang out) I just love getting post.

Since letter writing has become an all but dead art my personal post has dwindled – I get very occasional postcards, equally occasional greetings cards and fairly frequent suggestions from the bank that I might want to plunge myself deeper into debt, and of course books. Books are easily as exciting as letters even if I’ve bought and arranged for their delivery myself – the element of surprise which comes with a letter is replaced by the element of relief when the desired item turns up.

Anyway my most recent postal goodies comprise the rest of the Barsetshire Chronicles and I’m feeling ridiculously pleased with them so thought I’d share a picture. I also got a shower hose from my dad. I wasn’t expecting it, am not entirely sure I need it, and when I put it together with last year’s spanner have to wonder what he’s trying to tell me...

Actually a quick inspection of the existing shower whatsit suggests that dad might have a point, although when I (try and) fit the new one I’ll clearly have to give the taps a good seeing to with some anti lime scale stuff - my bathroom is clean and welcoming honestly, or at least I thought it was but now I’m finding lots of jobs that need doing. I wonder how susceptible dad would be to the suggestion that on his next visit he does the bathroom tiles anew? He’s generally pretty good about these things never leaving home without his tool box, I don’t think he’s trying to turn me into a D.I.Yer though – he’s always (and with good reason) very dismissive of any attempts I make in that direction.

And now that the sound of fireworks has died back a bit - it’s Diwali as well as Guy Fawkes tonight (Leicester has the biggest Diwali celebrations outside of India, or at least that’s what all the publicity stuff says) and we have a lot of fireworks which due to rain and poor organisation on my part I can hear but haven’t seen. It honestly sounds like I imagine the Western front did in 1916 with the likelihood of constant barrages from nightfall to about 3am for the next few days, the smell of gunpowder is perfuming the air, and I’m likely to develop a nervous twitch if I walk home at night but I love all of it – this is absolutely my favourite time of year to be in this city.