It's Sunday. I am wearing my dressing gown. It is nearly 3pm. (judge me if you like :o)
There was a knock on the front door. I ignored it as I am not expecting anyone and don't want to talk to anyone who is selling anything or collecting for charity or talking about politics or religion.
A few minutes later there was a knock on the back door. To get to the back of our house you have to go past about 6 more houses, down a path, and our house is not labelled at the back (so you'd have to count houses or know which one it was).
That's unusual, I think, I'd better see who it is, if it's someone who knows how to identify our house from the back.
It's the last tenant from our house, who neither of us has met before, asking if we have any post for her. She has been moved out for nearly 9 months now but we still get post; DP has been in contact with her to get her forwarding address and spends a while every few weeks writing "please redirect to..." on the envelopes. She looks rather surprised to see me in my dressing gown but I do not apologise or give an excuse, I just go and find the post we have for her (4 envelopes-worth) and give it to her. She then says "Is