While I was away, the Christmas present from Uncle Chris Booker arrived. For all of my life he has sent out the same presents every year. Whereas I send out Yarg cheeses, Uncle Chris sends out Cheddar's, made just down the road from where he lives. As we have the gannet like friends of the Mrs round for Christmas drinks and nibbles tomorrow it will come in jolly useful.
And so the delivery man popped up on the door and said to the Mrs "This is for Tom Winnifrith, I know a Tom Winnifrith but it can't be him." The Mrs said what does he do? Very few delivery men have an interest in Nomadic people of the Balkans or the Brontes so would know my father, Dr Tom. And so the delivery man said "he writes about shares".
The Mrs insisted that it was indeed me. Staring at this short little Indian lady living in in an unfashionable Bristol terraced house he seemed unconvinced by this tale. But he handed over the cheese anyway.
If you are reading this Mr delivery man, my wife spoke the truth. Thank you for handing over an eagerly anticipated Cheddar.