Visited today — as is the way of things — by the gas man. Didn’t say much (him), even when I had to close a series of doors behind him so the cats (still young) didn’t escape. We went to the meter, which happens to be by the front door. Whereupon he discovered three pieces of post, picked them up and held them out to me, taking the utmost — utmost — care that our fingers did not touch when handing them over.

Did not know what to make of this (me). Either very good or very odd. Am reminded of the time — M was small — when I was visited by a Mori poll man who made comments about how he used to do a survey that involved holding up pictures of bras. And how he got to the point where he could tell what kind of bra someone was wearing. My complaint led to £50 of Marks and Spencers vouchers. I’ve never known what to make of that either.

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