I rise early, don the smoking jacket over my PJs, and head downstairs.
As I excitedly bobbit a banana and crumble a suggestive biscuit into my porridge, I convince myself that it will be today.
I make myself comfortable in the widow seat with a cup of English Breakfast and look for the flash of red through the hedge which indicates that the postman has entered our street.
He's getting closer
Be still my beating heart !!!!
Damn it. He's walked past our gate.
Another day without a parcel from any of the leading outdoor retailers containing examples of the latest exotic gear for me to test and review.
It's so humiliating. Suppose I meet another blogger on the hill (or on a bus), and they remark on my socks and enquire who I am testing them for. Imagine the shame of having to admit that I went into a shop and bought them. It's so unprofessional.!
Now, I'm fully aware that I'm not a proper grown-up bloggger . I can't expect to get tents and jackets and rucksacks and stuff.
But surely - a spork? a whistle?
I extinguish the jacket and slip back under the duvet.