The plumber's boy

For the past week or so I've had a problem with my kitchen tap and yesterday it packed up altogether, so I phoned the local plumber this morning to ask if he could help. He said they were really busy with people's heating systems having conked, but he would try to send one of his 'boys' later in the day.

The problem with my cold tap seemed trivial in comparison, given the continued freezing temperatures. Imagine the poor people with no heating in this weather!

Anyway, I was delighted when the plumber's 'boy' turned up a couple of hours later. It turned out he was in his 40s, from Drymen and his mum used to be the cook when my 'girls' went to Brownie camp back in the 80s. Ah, village life!

Totally unconnected, this afternoon I met the mother of two of my former badminton pupils in the post office. I hadn't seen her for many years, so asked how her son and daughter, now in their 20s, were getting on and was very shocked and saddened to hear that her daughter has been in a care home since her teens, suffering from a severe form of schizophrenia. Counting my blessings...