Ode to the Postman

Saturday morning delivery and the Postman’s stomach grumbles. Nothing more vicious than when you walk up to a house that is cooking bacon, the smell that makes you weak with desire, not just for the slab of porcine goodness but for the whole package.

The Saturday morning bliss, the wake-up coffee, maybe turn the heating on if its winter.  The paper spread on the table. The only part of the outside world affecting you is the welcoming rays of sunlight coming through the window, anything else.. who cares. The bacon is in the pan, you want that with pancakes? or go for the classic ‘Full English’.  Whatever you like its the weekend.

The home, the castle, where we sleep, where we eat , love and live. Its all in there in that rasher. The Postman closes the gate and is on to the next house, door by door he heads towards his own home, towards his slice of bacon.
‘Ode to the Postman’

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