I had a chat with our postie today. Nothing new there. I have a great postie, which, living inner city, is a great thing.
After finishing hanging out the washing (one of the great things about working from home) I was about to walk upstairs when I spotted him by the gates.
"Anything for me, Daz?"
He looked down the driveway and saw me standing there.
"Ah, yes, Pandora, I've just rang your doorbell. You weren't in."
"Hanging out the washing, Daz."
I walked to the gates, where he handed me a parcel, something I was expecting.
"That's very good timing," I said.
"It is. And it makes a change from slotting this garbage in people's letterboxes." It was a flyer for the Yes campaign. I kept schtum.
"Ah, you don't have to put one in my letterbox. I know how I'm voting. And besides, I'll be voting from the Australian Embassy in Paris, under the shade of the Eiffel Tower. "
"Really?"
"Really. Leave on Friday. Mind you, I doubt you'll get a democracy sausage at the Australian Embassy. Maybe they'll put on a trading table baguettes and brie."
"You jammy cow."
"I deserve this. Haven't had a proper holiday for a long time."
"You'll have to send yourself postcards so I can see what you're up do."
"What, saying, "To Daz the Postie, Ner ner nee ner ner, Luv, Pandora."
"Something like that."
The gauntlet has been thrown down. I know I love receiving post cards. I know how to say, "Excusez moi, ou est la bureau de poste, s'il vous plait?" (Excuse me, where is the post office, please?" and "Je veux deux timbres pour les cartes postales pour Australie." (I want two stamps for postcards for Australia). Postcards won't be an issue.
Receiving postcards is a joy - the one person who sends me postcards every so often, Reindert, is meeting me in Paris after the retreat. I'm going to have to send a few home, even if it is to keep Daz the postie sweet.
No comments:
Post a Comment