Thursday, December 04, 2014
So today's a freelance day. Mid-morning I was interrupted at my desk to buzz the postie into the building. Often happens, and is fair enough since someone has to let him in. Then taking the opportunity to go to the toilet (after buzzing the door) turned out to be a mistake: At exactly the worst possible moment my doorbell (the one you have to be inside the building to use) went. argh. So I, um, hurry things along as much as is possible (thinking that whatever the parcel he has, is almost certainly now bound for the sorting office) and (after washing my hands) open the door to hear the sounds of someone about to leave the building. rats. Only (hurrah) postie hears me and (bless him) poddles back up the stairs. With parcels! For downstairs. I hide my disappointment and cheerfully take the parcels to pass on when they get home. I can't remember the last time one of the neighbours did this for me, but I suppose not everyone's in during the day right? Besides I've answered the door now and anyway it's good karma. Day caries on, designing gets done. A few minutes ago I finished up for the day and - spotting the parcels in the hall - I thought "rather than settle in for my evening knowing I'm likely to get disturbed, why not pop downstairs with those" (I know, right? Best neighbour ever. Modest too.) Downstairs don't have a doorbell, but the light's on and I can hear someone singing to himself so I knock. Nothing happens. I knock again. Still nothing, and I'm about to go back upstairs (now feeling a bit peeved) when the door opens and a sheepish, slightly soggy head peers round. Turns out downstairs was in the shower. :D Parcels handed over, and mildly embarrassed pleasantaries exchanged, I come back upstairs wondering if there's some kind of bathroom-ey theme going on with those parcels. I wonder what was in them.