At lunch time I go to the Post Office to send off for my new driver’s licence. At least, I head in a Post Officerly direction and divert at the photo booth to get my picture taken. Then I discover that the machine doesn’t give change, so I go to a nearby shop and ask for change but they refuse to open the till unless I buy a discounted bottle of Dr Pepper. (They didn’t specify the Dr Pepper but it was the cheapest item in the store.)
After getting my photo satisfactory on the third attempt, I remember that I forgot to write a covering letter asking for the new licence to be sent to my work address instead of my home address to avoid the delay of having to go to the postal depot to collect it. I go to a stationer’s and buy a writing pad and envelopes, then sit on a nearby bench and handwrite a note to the DVLA. I suspect they will think I am barmy and will send my licence to my home address anyway, but it’s worth a try, I think, forever acting like an optimist even when I am not.
Finally, I get to the Post Office, pay my money and send all the documents. I keep my fingers firmly crossed.
Tonight is the penultimate dress rehearsal for our play, so I will be spending the evening squashed in the prompter’s corner again. It is still boiling and the ice cream van didn’t do its rounds near my workplace today.