The problem with my Smartphone is that it is much smarter than I am. And Col left me with a fearsome job to do on Saturday, as I had to supervise and photograph the return of a parcel. The slippers I had ordered, hoping to find something I could wear on my feet without making them worse, were the wrong size. In fairness, they did not send me the wrong size, I had ordered the wrong size - my usual one. I know my feet are always a bit swollen these days, but I had thought because they were slippers it would be OK.
It wasn't. So Captain M-B, a very neat parcel maker, got them all parcelled up to return and I was under strict instructions that when the Postlady came to pick them up, I was to check that the address label she had was the right one, and also take a photo of her with parcel as proof of our having returned it.
I did my best but am wondering if all I got after much clicking was a selfie of me looking especially puzzled and gormless. I daren't look. I will find out when Himself returns from The Field.
The Imaginary Cats continue to rule the roost at the bungalow. Here is their latest fb post:
Abra, Imaginary Cat mark 1, decided to revisit her kittenhood at approximately 3 this morning. I was woken up by an e-type cat racing round the bed, opened my eyes to see mad yellow ones looking back at me, ducked under the covers as she pounced, then she leapt off the bed and landed on Tabs (Imaginary Cat mark 2) who was minding her own business in the cat basket. Robust feline exchange of views was followed by a sort of diminuendo effect as they both shot down the corridor, followed by the clatter of the cat flap and blessed silence. Feeling a bit jaded this morning.
When I think about the Imaginary cats, I do wonder about their Person, Janet. She took in so many rescue cats during her life. The Imaginaries are her last two rescues, who Nute promised she would take in if no other home could be found.
And while very shy, they settled in at the bungalow with Nute straight away, so to the extent that Janet could be happy with anything, she would be happy with this.
She was of the "Everything should be perfect, why isn't it?" school of thought. And it is a completely valid question. Everything should have been perfect. And now it isn't.
If Janet sleeps safe in Jehovah's memory, every hair of her head numbered, she will wake up one day and learn the answer to that question. Everything will be perfect then. And I hope she will meet her cats again. Though that is all in Jehovah's hands, which is where it safely belongs.
The photo that heads this blog? Well, it was taken while I struggled to get a photo of the parcel and the postlady. It turns out I had managed to get one of parcel plus official return label, including our cheerful postlady's hands and scanning device. But I also had this one - of our Maldives doormat! My feet ought to be in it, but they don't seem to appear. It might not win any prizes in photographic competitions, but never mind. I am rather pleased with it.
I bought that mat from the Bandos Island gift shop many years ago - in our expat years, when Captain Moth-Butterfly was the Sheik of Araby - and we used to go to the Maldives every year with a shoal of Aramco divers. I dedicated my novel "Waiting for Gordo" to the Aramco Shoal. So it is a mat of many memories.
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