Steampunk Samovar...

 from the window it winked. I was abroad in Ludlow late, all of 5pm. My mission was to go to the corner shop for supplies; you know the sort of thing, asses milk to fill my bath, canapés to fill my tum, ‘Country Living’ to fill my wild imaginings of a bucolic life in the undulating hills of A.E. Housman and Sir Edward William Elgar.  Oh, and not forgetting the Euro Millions ticket to make it all happen!?!  That was the plan anyhow! My life was steamrollered to a halt by this, for want of a better word... contraption.  The charity shop was closed, Garfield like I hung on the window, the drool of desire making me stick.

I want it and I want it Now!

Groceries forgotten, steam gently escaping in puffs of indecent desire.  I bowled down the hill and home, landing in a heap of overheatedness.  Himself having heard it all before listened with the resigned air of ‘Oh no, not again!’ type of thing! Suggesting that the best thing, nay the very best thing was to set the alarm and go up at sparrow fart and wait for the shop to open.  Obviously being at the head of an orderly queue of folk all wanting, nay needing to get their mitts on this most wondrous of Teasmade.  And that dear reader is how I got my latest thing of wonderment and fulfilment.

Don’t you just love it?