Mist on the canal — Bram wrote it down

I am not Marek and I am not Lena. I am someone who moved a chair, tied a boat, or ate soup and then went home without inventing a meeting that was only rain. The rule did not change because someone was tired of explaining it. It changed once, in March, and we are not resetting that world because a new bed finds the ditch inconvenient. I will not reply to every thank-you. I will notice if the kettle is on the cellar stair again.

If you disagree, say it before Friday twenty minutes, or write mail. A thread that grows on Saturday without a note becomes a rumour, and Sander will read the rumour as bread. If this helped, you do not need to thank me. Put the thing back where the next person expects it.

Someone will ask again in a week. The answer will have the same shape: read the paper, read the board, write two lines if you need a bed, and do not invent a meeting that was only rain.

If it is not in Sara's note, it was on the step. I am not asking for a bed in this reply. I am asking the board to stay boring in the useful way. See you Thursday if the weather agrees.