The Gardner engined Foden lorry is making its presence known. The sound of the engine ticking over is almost drowned by the sounds of chains been unclipped and milk churns being unloaded. Five am and the noise of the deliveries to the milk bottling plant encroaches into my dreams.
In my dream I am chained to a seaweed strewn post, by a jealous rival. “I am drowning in milk”.
However the bell on my alarm clock releases me from that terror. So I dress and stir the fire then add some coal. For it is Monday. Soon my wife Kate will be taking in laundry. She will need fire embers to light the laundry boiler.
As I collect one of the new slender-neck glass bottles capped with a silver top, I recall how I used to have to walk to the farm if I required milk or eggs. However time is pressing and my job as a solicitors clerk calls. Fredrick and Young’s do not tolerate any lateness. A frivolous mind will not pay the bills.