Hope springs eternal in the Bracknell breast

Earlier today, Lady Bracknell ventured out to the Post Office.

There are two Post Offices within what persons whose mobility is not impaired would probably describe as "easy walking distance" of Bracknell Towers. One, the journey to which is on relatively level ground, has two rather steep steps at the entrance, so that her ladyship must needs cling on to the doorframe with a vice-like grip if she is to effect ingress or egress. The other has a level entrance, but one must walk down an incline and up another one in order to reach it. It is, of course, axiomatic that whichever Post Office Lady Bracknell decides to visit on a particular day will always feel like the wrong choice before she is even half way to its doors.

(Lady Bracknell has suspected for some time that both the Post Offices in question are stealthily shuffling further and further away from Bracknell Towers. Possibly under cover of darkness, as she has never managed to catch either one in the act during daylight hours. Empirical observation would tend to suggest, however, that this is not the case. Lady Bracknell must face up to the fact that walking is becoming gradually more exhausting for her.)

All of the above, however, is beside the point. Except, that is, for the fact that Lady Bracknell's sortie took her past her local lending library. Regular readers will recall that the library is currently shut for renovations, and that Lady Bracknell is hoping against hope that the large number of books which she was generously permitted to borrow will last her until the first weekend in May. (Readers anticipating an admission of just how many books remain unread at this juncture will be disappointed. Lady Bracknell dare not count them.)

It was, however, cheering to observe that large numbers of workmen were this morning giving every appearance of applying themselves vigorously to the task in hand. Window frames were being painted. Doors were open. Book cases swathed in protective shrouds of polythene sheeting could be glimpsed by the casual onlooker. A strange yellow lifting device of mysterious provenance was parked in close proximity to the front entrance, and the sound of power tools could be heard from within. In short, the whole place was a hive of activity. Lady Bracknell would like to believe that all of this augurs well for the promised grand re-opening taking place on schedule.

The editor, having been unable to find a photograph of Sefton Park Library on the interwebnet, has attached instead a rather artistic photograph of Sefton Park Palmhouse, because that was where she celebrated her 40th birthday.