Living in London

A few weeks ago, during the early hours of dawn, we heard the tinkling of glass bottles and the quiet whisper of an electric vehicle winding up our street. Upon investigation we learned that there is a milkman who makes home deliveries.

Last week, I returned home late on Thursday evening from my usual week in the northwest. The next morning, as I stirred from slumber at about ten before 6:00, my first thought was that we had no milk for cereal or cream for coffee. As if on cue, I heard the quiet electric open-sided truck pull up in front of the flat. I jumped up, threw on my robe, and ran down the stairs to meet Joe, the neighbourhood milkman. He sold me two pints of semi-skimmed, and signed us up for regular delivery every Friday morning.

Not only do the doctors in England make house calls, but it is delightful to have Joe bring us milk and cream every week.

-HrH