THE PERILS OF PICKING & PACKING

Well, well. No rest for the wicked they say, and precious little for the rest of us either ... this last week has seen L&F HQ positively buzzing with business - which is doubly lovely, because the office is wonderfully cool. Getting into it however requires fine timing and nerves of steel: the swallows and swifts are flourishing in the beams by the door, and up the wooden stairs into the store room above - which, mercifully, is for private Irvine use, meaning we don’t have to go up there at all while the place is a nursery. But the fact that I am terrified of anything with wings means that access to our picking and packing station is fraught, and sometimes it’s pretty much only the lure of the 10° temperature drop that gets me through the door. I do see that they are miraculous in their agility, and their navigation and stamina, and perhaps in their speed most of all, but still I literally shake as I approach, and have to hold my breath, duck my head and barrel through the door – all of which is unseemly, but manageable. Yet more difficult is coming out with an armful of orders to be sent. I have to shut the door of course, lest one of them flies in, but that means balancing as I step down into the yard, and wiggling the latch just so – assuming I’ve remembered to turn the light off (was it on?  I’d better check) and shut the window. I hate to be a killjoy, or to wish the days away but oh, just sometimes, roll on autumn!