Intimacy

I was just at the front door, carrying a car bike rack that I had retrieved from the recycling centre, when the doorbell rang. It was a Lib Dem canvasser. Having assured him of our vote (in the absence of anything resembling a credible leftie in Devon), I proceeded to the rear of the car to see if the rack would fit. Two doors down was the MP himself (I have shared the toilets in the pub with him several times. In a good way, obviously) and walking up the street was Tracy from the allotment (also canvassing, as she was far from home: the allotments are a mile away). She came beaming up, saw by bike rack was upside down and back to front, and promptly fitted it for me. Then the MP came up, we chatted, I ribbed him about his recent adverse press reports, which he rightly (IMHO) dismissed as nonsense, and I ended up promising to put up a board for him. It's a small world.