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Ernie, I'll be happy if it comes up to my chest!
We have a milkman who delivers milk to the door, and yes, I know how lucky we are. We used to be even luckier, with a milkman based on a local dairy farm, who delivered daily, and who we could, after a fashion communicate with. All through lockdown I was grateful that here, at least, was something I could rely on.
Even when our milkman, inevitably, retired, he transferred his round to a colleague, so that the first we knew of it was when milk started appearing on our doorsteps in the middle of the night. It became obvious that our new milkman had taken over more deliveries than could be fitted into each day, and eventually he settled into a routine of delivering every other day. In my case, since our order alternates between one and two pints a day, this meant a delivery of three pints on Mondays and Wednesdays, and four on Friday to last through the weekend. The fridge is fuller than is ideal on delivery days, the empties mount up, I have to think ahead about increasing or cancelling the day's order - but it works, mostly. We still have a milkman, and that's a good thing.
On Monday, though, I opened the door to find a crate on the doorstep containing eight pints of milk. This was both a challenge and a mystery.
The neighbourhood WhatsApp group sprang into action, and within 24 hours we had disposed of two pints to someone in need of milk, made room in the fridge to accommodate the remainder, and learned that the milkman had suffered some kind of family crisis. Why eight pints? Who knows. Monday + Wednesday + Friday = 3 + 3 + 4 = !0 pints, but perhaps eight pints represents Monday + Wednesday + Friday - Saturday?
Apparently not, because this morning brought Friday's usual four pints. Plus a bill - well, actually a receipt, but that's just the stationery - for £34.30. Yes, the monthly bill falls due this week, but what does that figure represent? After some cogitation,![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
durham_rambler announced that 343 is seven cubed. Oh, well, that explains everything.
Even when our milkman, inevitably, retired, he transferred his round to a colleague, so that the first we knew of it was when milk started appearing on our doorsteps in the middle of the night. It became obvious that our new milkman had taken over more deliveries than could be fitted into each day, and eventually he settled into a routine of delivering every other day. In my case, since our order alternates between one and two pints a day, this meant a delivery of three pints on Mondays and Wednesdays, and four on Friday to last through the weekend. The fridge is fuller than is ideal on delivery days, the empties mount up, I have to think ahead about increasing or cancelling the day's order - but it works, mostly. We still have a milkman, and that's a good thing.
On Monday, though, I opened the door to find a crate on the doorstep containing eight pints of milk. This was both a challenge and a mystery.
The neighbourhood WhatsApp group sprang into action, and within 24 hours we had disposed of two pints to someone in need of milk, made room in the fridge to accommodate the remainder, and learned that the milkman had suffered some kind of family crisis. Why eight pints? Who knows. Monday + Wednesday + Friday = 3 + 3 + 4 = !0 pints, but perhaps eight pints represents Monday + Wednesday + Friday - Saturday?
Apparently not, because this morning brought Friday's usual four pints. Plus a bill - well, actually a receipt, but that's just the stationery - for £34.30. Yes, the monthly bill falls due this week, but what does that figure represent? After some cogitation,
durham_rambler announced that 343 is seven cubed. Oh, well, that explains everything.