Other years I would have gone on holiday, and I would have tried to get away with giving you short daily posts about something trivial, while pretending it’s both literary and interesting.
But like so many people, I am at home, and I still manage to be trivial. It’s not hard at all.
Yesterday’s post – by which I mean mail, not what I write – was brought by a less distanced postman. He handed me the pile of books and bills almost in his usual way.
One of the treasures he delivered seemed to be implying it would contain strawberries. My powers of deduction told me it was the book promised me by my favourite ex-strawberry farmer, Kathryn Evans, who last week said she’d send me her new book, Beauty Sleep. She might have called me her favourite witch.
I imagine she’s just got the one.
I will save the book to read on my holidays. At least I will, if they happen some time soon. (The strawberry was my own. It won’t be joining me on holiday because I’ve eaten it.)