Lockdown from Bridport - Part 3 - Day 30

A disgruntled reader of Last Tango in Carcassonne passed by the shop yesterday and remarked that I needed help with the writing of my sex scenes. 'There are no sex scenes' I say... 'on purpose' I add crossly. 'You can't call it 'Last Tango'' he persists 'and then not have any sex'. 'It's just a play on words' I retort, and then as a polite afterthought, (he purchased the book after all) asked if he enjoyed it. 'What a sad life you've had!' he remarks and shuffles off. 

This morning I noticed that the luxury bar of soap had developed a split in it and as anyone who is a connoisseur of fine soaps will know, this soon leads to an upsetting development. I haven't the heart to throw out the discarded slivers either because every time I look at them I am reminded of my 98 year old Aunt and how horrified she would be, so they sit there as a reminder to my wastefulness and extravagance. 

I am just in the mood today to take on Yorkshire Gas and Power (again) over their exorbitant extractions from my bank account. I'm not going to be fobbed off either by a gentle elderly sounding person whom I can envisage sitting in a comfy armchair with legs outstretched wearing warm slippers. No, they are part of a team of highly trained ruthless representatives hellbent on fleecing sole traders from Bridport out of vast sums of cash for shops that have been closed. All I want to do is tell them how crap their service is, how incompetent their promised 'follow up' non service is and that basically they are a bunch of robbing bastards. Unfortunately (for me) the lines were so busy I wasn't going to shorten my life span in a queue listening to piped muzak so instead I went out into my lovely little garden and hung some washing out on the line. 

I nearly fainted this morning when I discovered that I had been the recipient of a tax return from HMRC. I immediately texted 'The Undertaker' safe in the knowledge that he couldn't suggest I relinquish it in his direction on frivolities or even (shudder) on a replacement dishwasher. (Unnecessary in my humble opinion) Rather like the tumble drier that never gets used, causing merriment of a small band of people I hear... 

I trundle off to the shop after an early lunch, (chicken sandwich, chocolate biscuit, easy peeler orange)  as you may be surprised to learn, I ditched the boot camp regime after 24hrs... A few other independent shop keepers on South Street are redoing their windows too so we wave to each other and shout through windows. In my window I settle for a large pottery bowl of white roses and a mixture of black and red clothes, although tomorrow I may change those to pink as they look rather sombre. I scatter a few chocolate shaped hearts in shiny red foil in the window as a gesture towards Valentines Day. I purposely ignore 'disgruntled reader' as he walks past. I daresay I will get over myself before long and he'll forget the lack of steamy sex.

The sky has a lovely pink hazy glow to it this evening and the washing has actually dried on the line.

I won't linger however because at 6pm I am going to stand on my doorstep and applaud Sir Captain Tom, as loudly as I possibly can.

Todays 'shout outs';  Vicki and Barbara  (Boise USA), Yvonne D, Steve D (Bridport ice cream man) Rachael, (St Marys, Isles of Scilly,) Claire M, (Mapperton....) Tina I, Sue S, Craig J (ATDU Bovington), Deidra, (Atlanta, Georgia) Lesley F, (Scotland), Jennifer W x