Parking nose-out is, indeed, a military practice that stuck. It’s taught and enforced in the service not only for faster get-away but also (in fact, primarily) because it’s safer. The world outside the garage is a target-rich environment full of things that move without regard to my intentions. As such, it’s not something I want to back into.

Mind you, backing into the garage is not a task for the unskilled. Getting over the curb ramps requires a shot of power just as the car’s arse end clears the door. If the wheels are not perfectly aligned, I have a split second to adjust before clobbering Edmund’s bicycle or the compost bin. Yet another reason (as if I need one) to be sober behind the wheel.

I have been honked at in parking lots by louts who can’t tolerate a 10-second wait for me to back into a slot. Each time that happens, I think “You’re why I do this.”

My ground-floor loo is just barely big enough to accommodate a pedestal sink and the throne itself. Adding a bidet, even the toilet-seat kind, would incur other requirements, such as towels and space to wrestle with layers of clothing. I’ve reached my somewhat advanced age without feeling the need for a bidet, so I think I’m okay in that department. I am, however, considering the purchase of an electric kettle, now that I’m living with an electric range that takes forever to boil the traditional stove-top model. As a Canadian of largely British heritage, I usually prefer to seek comfort in the form of hot beverages.