routine

There is one thing to pack, a back for a camera. It was sold on Ebay during the Irish holiday. It was not worth much money, but why not sell it to somebody who wants it rather than throwing it away to save bother.

Take it back downstairs, print out an address label with prepaid postage and take the package to the post. The woman behind the counter whips out a ruler and checks that the package does not exceed the maximum height. Then she prints out a receipt and she says: "have a nice day" in German.

Walk around the town, it is cold and miserable weather. 

Go into the cafe, the charming Italian waitress brings a cup of coffee. We make small talk, she talks of Holland , realise that she has mistaken the pronunciation.

Then when the coffee is finished, go home.

Unpack the suitcase, put the clothes into the wash. Thirty degrees should be plenty, they are not really dirty, and the detergent works at that temperature too. 

Fill out a repair form and pack the camera that was defective in Ireland, and include the lens that it was used with. At the very least, the people in Wetzlar will clean it up. And it is the camera that is at fault, not the operator.

By the time that is done, the washing machine has finished. Put the clothes into the dryer, and the remainder of the used clothes into the machine. Start both machine and dryer, and then go out to the post office with the next package.

She whips out her ruler again, even though it is visibly the same size of package. There is nothing like a routine.