It's another travesty. I've received an important-looking airmail letter from America (which always makes me think of The Proclaimers) in today's post.
It starts well...
I hate it when they start praising me. You always know what the next line is going to be...
I feel like a Brit at Wimbledon.
But I've cheered myself up by writing a pointless e-mail to the BBC to complain about the standard of dress in 'Hotel On Sea'. And I'm happy to say they've already sent me this reply:
"We are pleased to confirm receipt of your e-mail to BBC Information. Thank you for taking the trouble to share your views with us".
So they obviously haven't read it yet.
Anyhoo, I'm off to peer out of my kitchen window at my neighbours, who are out the back as we speak, erecting a huge fence across the middle of the back yard to divide it in two. Anyone would think we'd had a row.
It's particularly good timing, as I've just been accosted at the post box by a local resident who's read my Shotley Gate page, and who wanted to inform me that actually local residents do have the right to fence off any patch of grass they like the look of, all in the name of freedom, liberty, and increasing their property values. So that's told me.
Honestly, the sooner I move to Brighton, the better.