NO MORE EXCUSES …
I was stumped for something to do during the early days of the lockdown. We had planned to go to Aussie in the caravan for five months during the winter but that all went pear-shaped as so much did for everyone else.
So, you start looking for the sort of jobs that you always knew that you would have to do one day, but that you always hoped someone else would do for you, out of sheer pity and/or disgust.
My letter box is one of those rural affairs on a metal road in Waitakere, West Auckland. I use the term ‘road’ here very loosely; letter boxes get run over out here, and every time the council arrives to do some maintenance — another very loose term — the road roller pushes the letter box over just another few degrees. The upshot
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