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In the October
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I
have just returned from a relaxing holiday in Scotland and feel much calmer now. The grouchiness
revealed in my last Diary entry has gone. That piece did, however, produce an interesting result.
Awaiting my return from holiday was a letter addressed to ‘Mr. Grumpy’, with ‘Be Happy’ on the back. All
it contained was a small pack of ear plugs. Unfortunately the kind person who sent me this gift did not
include a name, so I can only thank them through this column for their very generous gift.
This rapid response to my jottings reminded me of the fourth book in the Harry Potter series which we
bought on tape to get us through the long journey to and from Scotland. In it Hermione (I am sure you all
know who she is by now, but if you do not you really must read the Harry Potter books) is criticised in a
magazine article and receives a lot of nasty letters from the readers, including Howlers, letters which explode
if they are not opened. I will settle for the ear plugs. But the receipt of that gift set me thinking. If I moan
about noise, then I get ear plugs. So if I moan about other things, maybe I will receive equally relevant gifts.
So if I moan about the lawn growing too fast, perhaps on my return from work I will find that the lawns will
have been mown. Or if I moan about my aches and pains I will be sent a massager (or somebody to give me
a massage). Well, I can dream.
Although my holiday did give me a chance to charge my batteries for the long slog towards winter, I do
find that holidays can be a stressful experience. I think it is the return journey which is the most
nerve-wracking, especially the last few miles. It was when I got to St. Neots that I really started to think: is
the house still standing? Have we been burgled? But everything was safe, just as we left it. Except for a
hanging basket which has disappeared, presumably stolen.
It is no great loss, since it hadn’t been watered for a while. But why would anybody have taken it? Had
somebody forgotten their mother’s birthday and, as they were walking past, saw the hanging basket and
decided to give that to her? But what a gift! ‘Here you are Mum. Sorry I didn’t wrap it and sorry it has not
been watered and the plants are nearly dead and the basket is rusted and it is full of snails.’ And that is not a
hint that I want another hanging basket. But somebody has taken my green environmentally friendly council
collecting box (or whatever you want to call it).
Now I would like one of those!
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