Tuesday is the day the bin men come - 'binmen' is a northern term: down south they are invariably 'dustmen' but I do not know where the dividing line is for the name change - and because they usually arrive by 8.30 a.m. for at least the blue recycling boxes - newspapers and wine bottles almost exclusively in ours - most of my neighbours are either in the process of putting their bins out when I do mine or have left them out overnight.
Almost invariably I see my next-door-but-two neighbour (NOT the one who apparently inspects his foul water drain daily - he is next-door-but-one) which is not a problem as he is a perfectly nice man and probably the one I have had most conversations with over the years (I am not very sociable.). No, the problem is that I have put him in a series of stories, and enabled him thereby to get up to all sorts of shenanigans ... initially with the very fictionalised 'me' I put in the same story. NOT, not, not wishful thinking, just a bit of farcical fun ... but now I blush every time I see him, and sincerely hope not to get into conversation with him because I know I shall not be able to prevent myself grinning inappropriately.
The thing is.... what has he dreamed up about you?
ReplyDeleteYou have inspired me. I'm sorry about the way my mind works.
ReplyDeleteoh dear, I wish I hadn't been drinking my morning cuppa when I read this.
ReplyDeleteWe're on the same page in the river of stones book - your 'lace tablecloth' stone is near my red potatoes one. I think that's cool. :)
ReplyDelete