So this week I took a huge number of parcels to the post office. As many as I could carry in the 3 large reusable bags I keep for just this purpose. I lugged them happily up the hill, with the usual relief (phew, glad that's done), satisfaction (a job well done) and excitement (I can't wait for them to get their yarn!!) Emma and I had spent the best part of the day before carefully packing up Artichaut kits and update orders. I love packing kits with Emma, because often she'll be seeing the yarn for the first time and will say gratifying things like 'Ooh, it'll be gorgeous in that colour'. And I get excited all over again. Usually our packing involves her doing all the oragnising, making lists of who gets what and which orders need to be combined and who needs a postage refund, and me, still reskeining yarn that's only just dry, forgetting to make the tea and nattering incessantly (because only my hands are busy) while she tries to concentrate. If you buy yarn from the shop, it's thanks to Emma that anything gets done with a modicum of order and efficiency, so send her a happy thought while you open your parcel.
Anyway, I get to the post office - and there's no queue!! Whoop! - at least until lovely Wendy has processed my 2 dozen or so parcels and announced the large sum of money to pay while I'm fumbling in my purse for my bank card which I HAVE LEFT AT HOME because I removed ALL MY CARDS to purchase a new electric hob (for dyeing sweater quantities, yay). Wendy kindly told me to go home and get my card and come back when the post office reopened at 2pm to pay for the already processed packages. Mortified. So I went to work to drop off my stuff, then walked back home to pick up my cards only to find the weekly food shop that I was expecting to be delivered that evening had been only ten minutes earlier, because I had got the time wrong. So I had to call the supermarket (who were less accommodating than the post office) to apologise and arrange a redelivery for that evening so that my family could eat that day (while I would still be at work).
It was one of those days that was clearly going downhill, and was saved by the fact that no-one treated my like the moron I felt like. And if I hadn't had to go home to pick up my cards I wouldn't have been able to reorganise the food shop delivery and I would have had a very hungry family that evening...
Here's my own Artichaut in Alpaca Silk Sport in Iris: