It's 6.45 in the morning and the door bell is ringing. From downstairs, Mr B is hollering my name, just in case I'm still slumbering peacefully, unaware that Somebody Is On The Doorstep.
Sometimes, I think to myself as I pull on my dressing gown, it might be worth changing my name. Brenda, perhaps? Or maybe Marion would do the trick? “Jaquiiiiiii!”yells Mr B. I think it
is altogether too late to adopt a different monicker. “Coming!” I yell, to anyone who might be listening. I reflect, blearily, as I descend the stairs, how good it is that, thanks to Double cataract surgery, I now have 20-20 distance vision. Otherwise,
I would have still been fumbling about trying to find my specs on the bedside table while the door bell kept ringing and Mr B kept hollering.
On the doorstep
stands Riaan, from Ocado (I would know it was him because he was driving the Lemon van but, of course, I am still half asleep) surrounded by bags of my shopping. He looks almost as surprised to see me, in my nightie, as I am to see him. No, he isn't wearing
his pyjamas, he is respectably dressed. I suspect his look of surprise is simply mirroring mine.
By the time I register who is standing on my door step, I have
realised what has happened. When I booked my delivery slot the previous day, I was so delighted to find that there was an early evening slot still free that I nabbed it forthwith. It never occurred to me to check whether my delivery slot was a.m. or p.m. Hence,
Riaan, on the doorstep, with my shopping at Stupid O’Clock in the morning.
You'd think I might have learnt from my unfortunate experience booking on-line
to see the evening performance of Billy Elliott some years back. Except that I booked the afternoon performance instead. Because our American visitor was only free in the evening, I had to book another three tickets and donate the afternoon tickets to two
of the Darling Daughters. I even had to look after a couple of grandchildren while their mother was Otherwise Engaged watching Young Billy realise his dancing dreams - though this, to be fair, was the sweetener which made my Technological Disaster mostly worth
There are advantages to rising early. More time to get things done, for a start - and when expecting an invasion of (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys,
every extra minute is valuable.
Except…Did I know, asks Mr B, that a new series of Australia Masterchef has just started? What better way to fill that extra
hour I gained from rising so early than playing “Catch Up TV”?
I'm too tired to argue….