Pansies and Postmasters

Despite my aching back I decided to walk to the post office, although I could have used my housemate’s car. Ignoring pollution, I felt I was more likely to wrench the back behind a wheel. Besides, the day was incredible.

Passionately purple and golden yellow pansies blanketed the gardens and snowdrops almost hid the new grass. Everything shimmered as if jewellers had blown diamond dust over the entire countryside. Pink cherry blossoms, white apple blossoms and forsythia were everywhere, all against a backdrop of snow on the mountains.

My mission was “pour régler” the name on the mail box for my business account.

Our postmaster looked quite dapper in his brown suit, complete with vest, yellow shirt and brown and yellow stripped tie.

He is a slave to detail and dots every i not once but four times. I’ve taken rolled coins in for my savings account and even when they weigh correctly he takes them out and counts them several times.

Likewise he laboured over the paper work. Admittedly my handwriting is less than grammar school perfect. I am not sure it was a compliment or an insult when he said my French accent was better than my writing. I will say tact-lack and leave it at that.

However, as annoying his attention to detail can be, half of me wishes he could read English. I could use him as a proof reader, another of my weaknesses.