Winged Messenger....

As I pulled on to my drive yesterday..  Excuse me while I savour that phrase. A white van driver wound down his window and stuck his head out.
"O-oh!"I thought, and waited for a volley of abuse. Had I cut him up in Glencoe Road? I don't think so.
"I've put your Amazon delivery behind your bins!"
"Oh, thank you very much indeed," I replied, sounding excessively grateful, even to myself.

Deliveries. So many these days and horribly convenient, while we soundlessly kill off the traditional High Street by our jaywalking fingers over the keyboard.
The efficiency of the delivery company is often determined by its local  agent. Hermes is one such company which has given grief in Buckingham and Cardiff, I'm told, and yet I have been lucky with my own jolly winged messenger - no complaints whatsoever.

This morning in Buckingham I heard that Izzy asked her mother if Herpes had arrived.
"It wasn't what I was expecting to have to deal with at 8.30 on a Saturday morning, Mum," she said.
As she told me this on the phone, a little voice, Joseph, asked, "So what are herpes, Mummy?"
I am not sure how she delivered that one.
Little herps?