HEY MISTER POSTMAN...

As you know I don't shop anymore. Nope. Conscious consumerism all the way. I just order things. What? No, that's not the same thing at all. With lovely people sending lovely things as well, it could give one cause to listen out for the doorbell in anticipation, (actually it's a buzzer that goes "aaack" in a rather startling 1950s manner, the noise of which once killed a bird Lola caught and who(m?) I was nursing until the RSPB arrived. They arrived and rang the bell. Little bird died of fright.)

Where was I? Oh yes the postman. So nowadays instead of answering the intercom and hearing "Read yer gas meter love" or " We is here to speak about Jesus", I often hear "Delivery for you."

And such goodness arrives. In the past month or so I have received - some from me to me, some from lovely people to me:

Dogwood postcards from Jen.
The totally compelling Supermodel by David Breskin from Lauren.
A Dolly Pendant from Kyo Hashimoto.
Fuel for my not-so-secret-anymore Marthadom from C.
I am waiting on a scarf and a boring but cheap top from the Toast sale.
Also the November issue of Poplife magazine which never turned up.
And my delivery of flickr moo cards.

Oops, also plopping throught the letterbox were The Beautiful Fall from Amazon,
Au Revoir Simone's CD,
er, a magnetic stamp kit,
and a eurostar ticket.

I am blessed by the magic of the internet.