So, I didn't do that link yesterday, nor check specific facts. Sorry, but if it really gets to you, you are more than welcome to tell me so and spur me into action. If not, I'll remain complacently sure that a. no one has read it (apart from Benedict) or b. you have keenly looked up the information yourself.
You know how it is, when a small mistake or omission causes, not only extra work for yourself, but makes you feel foolish too? Mm, well, I forgot to sign a letter before taking it to have 400 copies made. So I spent an hour (ish, I wasn't counting) signing them individually. Fortunately, I had the company of two friends who were folding papers and putting them into envelopes and so, once they had stopped laughing at me, we chatted animatedly and amicably.
Last Friday, greengrocer son Al added another string to his bow. The next village, which is the best place in the world to live if you want friends, has set up a Friday evening market. It is a place that is small in population and wide-ranging in area, which has lost, over the years, its school, pub and shop (all of them gone at least 15 years) but still has a fabulous community spirit, due to the work put in by the people who live there. They are not at all insular, newcomers or non-inhabitants are as welcome as those who have always lived there, and they have a Friday evening social club at the village hall, which has a bar and people licensed to run it.
So, on Friday evening, Dilly went to the shop, with the baby, while Al did his deliveries. He then went back, loaded his van, shut the shop and drove to the next-village hall. As it was a fine evening, they held the market outside, which had the advantage that he didn't need to unload, and everyone enjoyed their shopping, with plants, cakes, excellent meat from the village farm shop and Al's fruit & veg. And the bar, and a free barbecue to celebrate the occasion.
Al enjoyed it very much, and financially it was well worth while. But, by the time he had returned to the shop, unloaded, phoned in his order for the next day and returned home, he had put in a 14-hour day, with the busiest day of the week to follow in a few hours. He has committed himself to a month's trial, but in how many places can you burn a candle before it starts to disintegrate? He already works over 50 hours every week at the shop, without taking paperwork or free home deliveries into account.
And, when English strawberries ripen next month, his busiest season of the year will start. He loves his job, isn't that fortunate.