Lockdown from Bridport -Part 3 - Day 53

I fail to understand how a delivery company cannot be a little more precise when stating their delivery times. 7am-7pm. 'Click onto the link', it says, for your updated delivery time. 'Out for delivery today' is the unhelpful response. Outstanding technology to be sure. 

I'm not saying I'm restless but I keep dipping into the fridge. Remains of fruit concoction, banana, ham sandwich, chocolate biscuit, endless cups of tea, trips to hang out washing, half hearted pruning of rose bushes and a new mimosa tree ordered online, as I cannot wait any more seasons for mine to flower. As home/office improvements go this is at the top of the scale of being the most boring, quite possibly in my entire life. Someone is coming to the shop to buy the small French wardrobe, no longer of any use other than for decorative purposes. I idle my way up the road when who do I spy but 'The Undertaker' lapping up the sunshine with a friend outside the museum. I sit down to join them as it gives me a birds eye view of the shop when suddenly a revolting gooey mass of seagull shite hits the top of my head. Imagine a raw egg being plopped on your head. Quite why it was so funny was beyond me but I suppose some people must get their amusement where they can. Well I like to view things in a pragmatic way so I consoled myself that luck would surely befall me. The woman turned up and bought the wardrobe and the carpet turned up at the same time. Killing two birds with one stone so to speak. My views on seagulls must remain my own.

I went to bed far too late last night as we stayed up watching a French comedy series, yep you read that correctly, that's a comedy series made in France, in French. We have both laughed more in the last couple of nights at their humour than we can ever recall whilst actually living there. Most odd. 'Unless we had a sense of humour failure over there' I suggest to 'The Undertaker'. Quite possibly.

It's not been a bad day all in all. We take MIL's shopping up to her and I wander in her orchard which is a mass of daffodils. She has a eucalyptus tree so I raid that too. We wend our way home admiring the full moon beginning to rise above the hills. The washing on the line is still slightly damp so I throw it in the new tumble drier. It decides the washing is dry enough and refuses to tumble anymore. 'I'll pop it on the radiators' says 'The Undertaker'. 'It sort of defeats the object' I point out which seems reasonable enough. We are both flummoxed really. We conclude that we must be doing something wrong. It's the end of the week and past 1800hrs. A gin and tonic beckons, gin infused with blackberry and raspberry, so there are health benefits too! The carpet isn't as ghastly as I had feared it might have been and the colour won't make me feel I am in the middle of a stagnant weed ridden pond, win win!

Earlier on someone had passed by the shop and remarked that my constant changing of the windows really cheered him up. He thought the empty French wine bottles a quirky touch to the display. 'Wouldn't fit in my bottle box' I said drily. I am left pondering what sort of outfit I might conjure up for the window to best compliment an empty gin bottle.

There is always something to consider.