Today is the meteorological first day of summer. Apparently. The good news, after just about the wettest May since maypoles were invented, is that this important milestone has coincided with a small heatwave. Suddenly the garden has burst into life with a kaleidoscope of colour and weeds that John Wyndham would have been proud of. Cue the inflatable pool. It’s about eight feet across and three feet deep, enough to submerge completely in ice cold water, which is very good for you. Apparently. It’s not very good for the lawn though, but my protestations on that front fall on deaf ears.
Whilst heading off on one of my regular West Country tours last week I was wasting valuable time crawling at 50 mph on a long stretch of the M27, which is undergoing a perennial upgrade to the laughingly designated “Smart” status, although it has as much chance of joining Mensa as Eeyore. At one point a sign informed us of “Delays till…..2021”. I was slightly confused by this. Did it mean later that evening (8.21pm), in which case it was unusually precise? If it was talking about the year, it would be hard to be more imprecise as we are roughly halfway through the twelve months. It is possible there was a word missing; like September for instance. Either way, it wasn’t good news.
Eventually, the dull highway gave way to the snaking lanes of Somerset. My route took me through Ilminster. I was concerned about that, expecting to see streets full of lepers and long-coviders, but to my surprise everyone looked remarkably healthy and happy. Then it was on to Chard. Another surprise with no sign of a singed ember, let alone a major conflagration. Finally I journeyed through Wellington, where I was worried I might meet my Waterloo, but just got the boot. After further meanderings I ended up in Bath; a very clean City.
There was a time when I thought that the South African postal service was the worst in the world. However this week’s happenings lead me to believe that they have serious competition from USPS. I stupidly thought that must have some connection to UPS the courier service, when some supplement suppliers in Pennsylvania were explaining to me why the expensive package I had ordered from them still hadn’t arrived after nearly four weeks. Apparently USPS, or the United States Postal Service normally guarantee delivery within an impressive thirty days, but because of Covid it is now a sixty day service. That’s two months or one sixth of the year. This is the World’s superpower we are talking about. How on earth did they attain such elevated status with this level of incompetence? The real triumph is that as I was talking to the suppliers to try to trace the parcel, the USPS returned it to them…..after twenty eight days. Because it was incorrectly labelled. Apparently. At which point it seemed sensible to try UPS. After five lengthy and expensive transatlantic calls and three to UPS in London, miraculously the much anticipated package will now be delivered in two days time. Apparently. Don’t ever knock the Royal Mail again. (Although one Royal Male deserves all he gets!)
Remind me to tell you about Keeley cricket bats next time. Oh and the time I drove under an articulated lorry in my beautiful red roadster. My sister in Canada reminded me about that after my previous post. By email. So much quicker than USPS. But then so is Eeyore.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 