It seems that I’m no less batty. I wrote four letters this afternoon, which I wanted to get in the post as soon as possible because of the double bank holiday. The post is picked up from the village post box in the morning, which would mean Saturday at earliest, whereas the one in town goes at 5.30 pm. I hope the letters will reach their recipients for Monday. So I got them all into addressed envelopes, got out the stamps, took them out and put them in my bike pannier and cycled in. And when I arrived and was about to post them, I’d only stamped one of them. So I had to cycle home and start again because – well, I don’t know. I suppose I’m just distracted.
Three of the letters are ones of condolence, to the wife, son and daughter of our former Rector Ian, who died in the night. It was expected, but dreadfully sad. He was very much loved and respected and was only in his early 60s. The fourth was Tim and Viv’s marriage certificate, which my buyers’ solicitors insisted on receiving, to ensure that they actually were married. They’ve seen her death certificate, probate and will, which have her maiden and married names, but they were insistent. So I had to send off for it, which has taken three weeks. But there it is. All boxes to be ticked.
I’ve driven into town to mail letters, only to get there and discover I’d left them at home. The human brain is a strange animal.
I’ve done that too, Glenda. And worse.