It rained all day today. The puppies were not very happy.
On the other hand it made my sitting round doing nothing easier. Though I’d rather have gone to work then the football afterwards. My swollen foot preferred me doing nothing.
I say nothing, I actually did a whole load of WW1 research with my foot up on the bar beneath the dining table. This as a curative method (as well as taking anti-inflammatory drugs) was perfect and, by the time I went to bed, my foot wasn’t as sore and the swelling had reduced.
Mirinda, on the other hand, was off early this morning, heading for a panel discussion she was chairing at a conference. I didn’t realise but this was the first time she’d ever chaired one of these things. She’s been a panellist a number of times and appeared as a guest speaker more than can be counted but never the chair.
She’d had some tips from a few of her staff who have been in the chair. She felt well armed and quietly confident.
And, as I expected, she did perfectly. People congratulated her on a fine job and she even made the audience laugh a few times (very important when you’re chairing the final slot of any conference) as well as keeping the discussion going.
She then went to her club for drinks with a staff member before dinner then home to the flat. Clearly she saw more people than I did.
Actually I saw one more than I anticipated. Obviously being a Tuesday I knew I’d be seeing Richard the Egg Man but, a complete surprise was a ring at the bell from the guy who lives at number 13 in our street.
A little earlier Emma had started barking like the lunatic she can be so I hobbled into the library to see what had upset her. I thought it might be the pesky cat. I was wrong. The big white pantechnicon, its lights a-blaze, its engine a-thrum, was as catlike as a blue whale.
I went upstairs to get a better view of what was happening. This giant truck was seemingly parked, headfirst down the drive of the house at the top of the street. It appeared to be delivering something though I couldn’t see any humans. I did wonder how it was going to get out of our street.
I didn’t have to wonder for long because shortly after I started watching, the truck started backing up. The angle it was parked in didn’t make this particularly easy but the driver managed, very slowly, to straighten up enough to start heading down towards the main road.
Given the driver was obviously on his own, I silently wished him luck backing into the evening traffic. Or, rather, I wished the other motorists luck in seeing him with enough time to apply their brakes.
I watched until he’d managed to creep beyond Neighbour Dave’s place, glad that Max was in our drive rather than parked on the street. Then I went back to the dining table. Then came the ring on the doorbell.
The guy from number 13 (very nice chap) asked if I’d had a delivery earlier. I figured he was asking because he’d missed his and wasn’t sure where the driver had dropped it. I assured him I didn’t have his parcel as the only delivery I’d seen had appeared to call at the house at the end of the street. Then he explained.
The big white pantechnicon had clipped his car, completely destroying his wing mirror. I imagine the driver didn’t even know about it as the rear of his truck was a very long way from his cabin. The driver kept going.
The guy from number 13 heard it and went outside to investigate, just in time to see the truck vanish around the corner of the main road. He was not happy.
He then went up our road to investigate who’d had a delivery. He’d already checked at the end house but the woman there said they’d not had a delivery and had no knowledge at all of a delivery truck. Both the guy from number 13 and I thought this a bit odd given the truck had had its lights full on to the front of the house.
Anyway, I commiserated with him as he headed back out into the rain and wind. Not a nice thing to happen.
I returned to work. I’m glad my day didn’t get too much more exciting or my foot may not have taken it.