All Quiet

The pool was deserted as I strolled through the gardens this early Sunday morning to the Post Room.  Nothing but the sound of gurgling water and birdsong.

One of the joys of being here is that almost nobody writes to us at this address, so there is little or no mail to deal with (that awaits me when I get home).  There was, however, one letter in the mailbox this morning.  It was the Christmas card we posted to my niece from France in November.  We had put our Spanish residence as the return address on the back of the envelope.  For some reason my niece's address had been deemed invalid, and "Return to sender" scribbled beside it.  And so a card posted in France and undelivered in England ended up here in Spain.  

The wonders of the international postal system!