Just been out and about in the snow, posting letters, collecting Rowan and Lola. It’s damn slippy out there, but at least I kept moving, which is more than I can say for most of the drivers I saw. My, how I chortled, as I watched their little wheels spinning round and around and around as their big bodies went a-nowhere.

Our builders just left – the last one to go was waiting for a lift from
a mate from Stocksbridge (North of Sheffield, edge of t’moors). When he
arrived Gill quipped “had a good drive”. He replied sullenly “I’ve just
crashed at the end of your road”. Oops.

We’re also waiting for some radiators to be delivered (quelle irony). They
were supposed to deliver this morning. I rang at 2pm and the depot said
that the driver had been “hammering at the door” at 1.30. What’s wrong
with the doorbell, I ask? And, as Gill, I & six builders were all in at
1.30, in fact I took a delivery of organic vegetables at 1.30, I think
somebody would have heard him. They conceded that he might have gone to
the wrong house.

Then ten minutes ago the depot rang, to say that the driver was having
trouble finding our house (every fucking driver has trouble finding our
house. For god’s sake, it’s not that hard. Haven’t they heard of We gave him directions. Five minutes later they rang
up again “he’s at the end of your road, only somebody’s just driven into
the side of him”.

So Gill walked the couple-of-hundred metres down the road to find him. But he decided not to risk our icy little byway after having so much trouble on the main road. So: no radiators today. So near, and yet so far.

I love weather, me.

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