The doorbell rang this morning. At the risk of sounding like Johnny No Mates, normally the only time the doorbell rings during the day is when someone wants me to buy something: new soffits and fascias, fresh tarmac for the drive, tea towels of dubious quality, luxury apartments in the middle of Spain, etc., etc.. So it was with a sense of resignation that I tramped through to the lobby to answer the door, only to find our lovely post lady waiting there with a flower box from Jersey.
This was unusual. I do sometimes find myself presented with a bunch of flowers, but I can't remember the last flower delivery. Fearing there might have been a mistake, I snatched them from her quickly before she realised her error.
No mistake! The flowers were for us! They were from the wise ones, thanking us for our support this week. So that's probably the fourth, maybe even the fifth, time they've reduced me to tears this week!
Wise ones, you don't need to thank us, ever. We were there because we love you. But the flowers are gorgeous and smell divine!
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