Something? What
exactly is this thing called Something?
It’s hard to explain, but it’s that category of phenomena in
which things like luck, coincidence, revelation and the unforced unravelling of
knotty issues reside. If that won’t do, I’m sorry. It’s the best explanation I
can manage, and yesterday was full of it.
It began for me while I was sitting in the Ashbourne branch
of Costa Coffee at lunchtime, but I spoke to Mel later and she’d had a day full
of it as well. And it was all positive and happy and uplifting, even though one
aspect left me with a hangover. (You don’t want to know what that aspect is in
any detail. Suffice it to say that the Lady B has a life to live in which I
have no place, and my baggage is my baggage to carry, not hers. Sleeping dogs
are best left undisturbed.)
There, now; that made a welcome change from health issues,
didn’t it?
(I didn’t get a letter from the hospital this morning, by
the way, just a mis-delivered postcard from a ski resort in France
addressed to somebody in Borrowash, wherever that is. So if Carolyn and Russ {senders of the first part} or Fion and Nige {recipients of the second part} should happen to read this post, do be assured that the pretty picture of a snowy Haute Savoie is in safe hands and will soon be consigned to a proper British red pillar box, there to await the attention of the Royal Mail in the sure and certain hope of successful delivery at the second attempt.)
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