Fridays will never be the same again.  Simply because my lovely "milk girl" has given up her job.
Yes, I am one of the few people who still have milk delivered to the door. Whatever the weather, the milk is on the step in the morning after being delivered in  a white van decorated with black splodges reminiscent of a cow.
At teatime on Fridays this dynamic young woman parks the van and rushes to the door to collect my money. It takes less than five minutes but in that time she tells me her plans for the weekend - the meals she'll be having with friends or the Hen-party she's going to in Benidorm.  She shows me her healthy-looking tan produced on a sun-bed that afternoon.  We discuss the clothes she's wearing or the twin sons that make her so proud.
But now she's going to work in a factory on day shift so she'll no longer be getting up at 1 o'clock in the morning and driving in all weathers.  The reason is that the milk round has increased so much that the work is just too hard for her.
She gave me a big hug when she told me the news and another before she walked away down the path.  She was a wonderful character and I'm so pleased she was my "milk girl."