Pre-Coastal Mutterings

King Edward's Bay (oil on board, 36 x 36 ins)

One day last week, the postman used an interesting new technique. Waiting until I went into the garden to feed the birds, he took advantage of the only time I wasn't actually in the house to ring the doorbell and run away. It took me until the end of the week to get to the sorting office to collect my parcel.

Incidentally, why is it that I can only collect my parcels up to 12.30? Presumably the staff don't go home after that. Surely someone could take responsibility for handing over a parcel now and then? It's not as if there's likely to be a long queue of people suddenly forming after 12.30.

Anyway, in an obvious attempt to confuse the hell out of me, the postman woke me up today by hammering on the door. He'd brought another parcel and had forgotten how a doorbell works. It wasn't until after he'd gone that I realised it's Sunday! What are postmen doing delivering on Sunday? I always thought that Sunday deliveries were a sign of a civilised society and bemoaned their curtailment all those years ago. But now they're doing it again without a fanfare. Trouble is I find it difficult enough remembering what day it is, without the Post Office confusing me further.

Today is another trip to the Coast. Donning my most winning smile, I'm off to meet the Patsymum who's visiting Patsy123 at her Tynemouth gaff.

The picture? Patsy123's flat overlooks King Edward's Bay.