There is nothing more exiting than coming home to a slip from Royal mail, telling you that there is a parcel for you when you are not expecting anything. You wonder if you have forgot about a recent Amazon order, but come to the conclusion that it must be something else.
There is the overnight anticipation where you keep asking yourself who might have send you something. Different people come into mind, but you really don't have a clue.
And then when you go to the postoffice you tiptoe over the counter to try and see if you recognize the handwriting on the parcel and they finally hand it to you and you turn it around to learn the identity of its sender.
After there is the walk home, where you have time to wonder what it could possibly be. You judge the size and the weight of the package like a naughty child at Christmas time. And then when you are home and you open it, it never contains what you have imagined.
So thanks to Ronan for giving my weekend a great start.