It’s a fairly regular occurrence.
Soon after I’ve left the house, whether walking or bicycling, my phone will ping and a text message wall arrive from Mrs Mouse containing some sort of command.
Looking back over the texts from the last few months is a bit like reading a cryptic diary. You try to remember what on earth was going on at the time.
Recent examples include this moving and poetic line:
'I have a craving for Baileys.’
I happily acceded to this instruction and