No, this isn’t a post about where I feel least afraid and most content.
Today I woke to find that the post(wo)man had been. Sadly I’d been too busy performing to an audience of 1500 people to notice (I had such an awesome dream!). Upon arriving downstairs I was greeted with a little red card to tell me that they had been to deliver my package (probably my Rhona Cameron DVD which I’ve been waiting for, for what seems a lifetime!) but I didn’t answer the door and it was too large to fit through the letterbox.
I automatically dreaded having to go and pick it up from the main post office place even though I could probably see it from my house if I stood on my roof.
But then I looked down and it said that, as requested, my item had been left “in your (my) official ‘Safeplace’ as detailed on the item”. This is strange. I do not have a safe place, hence my many journeys to the post office place…
I looked outside my front door, round the back of my house, outside my garage, round the gate by the bins. Nothing. Wherever this ‘Safeplace’ is it must be very safe because I can’t find it.