“The poor, perspiring postman, hot in his regulation polo shirt and navy shorts, stood beside her, his face apologetic. Jules pulled out the earplugs. “God Almighty, Dougie. You scared the crap out of me.” Bloody hell, why was she so jittery? “Ach, it’s those wee thingies. Make ye deif, an’all. Sorry, Jules, but I need a wee signing on this parcel.” He pulled out a packet from his bag, clicked something on his ‘new-fangled digitty whatsit’ as he called it and handed it to her with the ‘stick thi...ngy’. Jules looked at him fondly. Dougie had been the postman for as long as anyone could remember, idiosyncratic and irritable if his round was changed or interrupted. Loyal and hardworking, he was more than a postie. He was a friend to all and a lifeline to those living alone without neighbors, and the elderly. He was also a fount of knowledge about the area. Anything Dougie MacDonald didn’t know, wasn’t worth knowing. Except, it seemed, technology. Jules scribed her name and handed the handset back to him.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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