Feeling a little let down.

Just before Easter, the Thursday before Good Friday to be exact, I took a parcel along to the local post office to send to Granddaughter Number Three who live in the southern end of the country. The post office man (postmaster) weighed it, charged me whatever he felt was the relevant amount of money, stuck a stamp on it and popped it in his bag for the post an to collect. I had been forgetting all week to post this parcel but now it was done and although it might not arrive in time for Easter Sunday, at least it should arrive while Granddaughter Number Three was still on holiday from school.

It was some craft stuff, plywood shapes to paint. Granddaughter Number Four and Grandson Number Two had something similar on Easter Sunday and occupied themselves happily painting wooden rabbits. I had wrapped Granddaughter Number Two’s stuff in a recycled envelope, carefully covering up any old address labels with new ones.

Now, my daughter-in-law is quite punctilious about getting their little daughter to send thank you letters and even photos of the small child enjoying whatever she has been sent. SomI was rather surprised not to hear anything from the southern branch of the family. 

Then, on Tuesday I think it was, the day before yesterday, I had a text message from my daughter-in-law. A parcel had arrived for their small girl. She assumed it was from me as the writing looked familiar, if a little larger than usual. But there was a sender’s name on the reverse which she did not recognise. Who was this mysterious person and was I in fact the sender? I was pretty sure I had stuck a label over that sender’s name and address - a chess playing friend of Phil’s. Presumably it had fallen off. And then there was a notice on the front saying the stamp was invalid and that there was a charge of £3.50!! I apologised for the inconvenience. 

I shall have words with our village postmaster! He’s usually very efficient.

And why did the parcel take so long to reach its destination. The postal service is letting us down. 

Then there’s our gutterman. Last Thursday he came and cleared a small forest out of our gutters. The gutters look fine now. We’ve not had any really torrential rain since then so we’ve not been able to test the true efficacy of his work. But it did seem to be efficiently done. Earlier this week, possible Tuesday again, I was checking how things were coming along in the garden. I noticed a patch of what looked like worn grass in the middle of what can’t really be called the lawn in the back garden - it’s much too full of clover and daisies and dandelions to merit such a posh name. The rough patch turned out to be a pile of sycamore seedlings and other stuff the gutterman had vacuumed out of the gutter at the back of the house. That was a bit poor, I thought. If he’d asked I could have suggested he put it in my composting and garden waste bin. I’d have moved it myself if necessary. After all, that’s what I did in the end.,

A little later, having noticed that the bluebells in the side garden were nicely in bud, almost ready to bloom properly, I went to check on the ones in the corner of the front garden. Goodness! They were half buried under clumps of soggy grass and sycamore seedlings, presumably thrown down by the gutterman. He had not vacuumed the front gutter but had ventured bravely up a ladder and pulled out the mess by hand. But I had not expected to find said mess in damp clumps all over the flowerbeds in the front garden. I had thought he would have collected it all together to dispose of it. Which is what I did, dropping the clumps of stuff - not just from on top of the bluebells but from several other flowerbeds - in the garden waste bin. Last Thursday I was pleased with the gutter-clearing work. This Tuesday I was less impressed! 

But the bluebells appear to have survived their ordeal. Now we just need them to come into bloom properly. 

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!