Lost & Phoned

Yesterday we had our first pile (a disabling Irish snow pile is about 50mm) of snow this winter which coincided with my first cold in 4 years, so there was excuse enough not to drive 40km into work.  But I reckoned the consequences of having to pick up later the dropped thread of the working week, were not worth a morning in bed. And I think you lose face to call in snow-bound if you choose to live 200m higher than your place of work.  The first 10km down the mountain were slippy enough, so I wasn't about to make any sudden movements of brake or wheel.  Accordingly, as I came abreast of a van coming towards me in a snow flurry, I whacked the nearside front wheel off a rock that had fallen from the ditch.  Two miles on that tire was flat (shredded indeed), so I pulled off the county road onto a little farm-track and changed the wheel.  When I got to work I realised that my phone was absent and assumed I'd left it at home, so sent a webtext to enquire.  No phone but the Beloved said she'd have a look in the bohereen when she left for points South and West after lunch.  Within 2 minutes of stopping she had met two of the three families who use the lane, one of whom reported that the Postie had picked up a phone and wondered if one of the kids had dropped it waiting for the school bus.  A few calls and it has been arranged that their Postie will talk to our Postie, who will repatriate the phone tomorrow. How's that?  Wouldn't happen in The City.  And I won't hear a word of knock against rural post-people - they are for many of us a shining thread in the weft of community.