I was waiting for
Then came the point where you know what you are about to do is wrong but you cannot stop yourself in time.
What is that weed, I thought? I remember that weed from my childhood. I recall something about it. And as my hand wrapped around it to give it a good yank, ah yes, it is a stinging nettle. Too late, she cried. But I survived and the plant did not.
The dutiful son posted his mother's day card yesterday with a small amount of cash in it. Luckily R is not here and could not lecture me on how mean and ungenerous I am.
This mail box will do. They are doing roadworks too. How interesting. Passing by two hours later, there was note on the post box, presumably written by the workers who had now blocked off access to the letter box, Mail Box Closed. It is still closed today. I am guessing my Mum just ain't gonna get her card by Sunday.