Better explain

Dear Gilly,
- There, that is the 'letter' opening bit, because we were rueing the lost art of letter writing, which evolved, over the course of our late lunch, into this blog idea. But I still miss letters; proper letters that drop onto your doormat. I like to see an envelope addressed in blue-black Quink and I like a proper stamp with a proper postmark. I almost never get such a letter these days, but if I did I would try and save it until the chores were finished and then read it over tea and toast. Out here in the Sticks the postman bumbles up the drive every day at about eleven o'clock in his red Postman Pat van. It's terribly exciting. Sometimes he's the only human I see for rather a lot of hours. He reminds me of Action Man in that his skin does not move; he is terribly handsome but completely devoid of facial expression. I tried a welcoming and friendly sentence with him once which caused him to swivel his watery eyes in my direction and give me the sort of look you would give a dangerous dog. He handed me the Parish Council Newsletter - which these days is almost as exciting as getting a letter, because at least it's not a Final Demand for yet another utility bill we've never got round to setting up a direct debit for since we moved from our Organized Townie Life to Chaos in the Country.
Now, I noticed that the time is all wrong on this blog-thing...not that it really matters - normally, but in my first tentative 'post' I gamely listed food I had just eaten and wine I had glugged (left-overs from our earlier meal together) - only to see that it is posted at 10.45am. I'm no prude, but that would be a little premature for posh wine even by my liberal standards. I think it was more like 5.45pm - just in case relatives happen to read this! Oh no the boys are playing darts again behind my head, which does it in! And there's a shocking rumpus going on in the the other room because Dave and Monty have just composed a song...oh, and here it is:

Dave's Ballad

We're a family of six

And we live in the Dicker

With an old dog called Mack

And two cats that are quicker

(Chorus)

Starnash is freezing

Starnash is grey

The pigs are all shivering

Cos they've run out of hay

The chickens are laying

The Aga's on a role

But very soon now

It will run out of coal!

There's Louis and Monty

Two boys bold and true

And Martha and Rose

To the countryside new

Chorus

And the Mummy and Daddy

Do stress and do toil

To plant and to plaster

And to tend to the soil

Chorus

Watch out Leonard Cohen.

The boys are angry now. It's 9.15pm. They are aiming darts at each other. We bought the dartboard to help them with their mental maths, not to turn me mental. I think I will give them Quality Street for supper and send them to bed.

Bye for now, Vicky x