There’s only one class of people we should all aspire to. Those right at the top of the status tree. Who are so important, so exalted, revered and, yes, so HOLY, that appointments to see them are more difficult to arrange than those with your doctor. Or lawyer, plumber, dentist or even MP. It’s easier to pin down a booking with the newest Michelin-starred, Euro-Asian-Americo-fusion, 500-quid-a-head pretentious eaterie than it is with these guys. Of course, I’m referring to delivery men. White van drivers. I mean: wow!! Who else can say “I’ll be bringing your new wardrobe, sometime between 6am on Monday the 4th and Thursday the 7th at 11.30pm. You have to be there, sign for it and I’m leaving it at the gate. Sorry we don’t do garden paths and front doors due to health&safety. And it weighs 200 kilos so good luck getting it upstairs”.

We’re all dependent on DPD. DHL. FedEx. Every order from Amazon, every lightbulb, piece of furniture, appliance or case of wine. It’ll come when the delivery man (blessed be he) deems you worthy of a visit. He may text you first, he may not. YOU HAVE NO MEANS TO INQUIRE NOR APPEAL AGAINST HIS DECISION. He’ll be there when he wants and you’ll say ‘thank you, Sir’, in a sprightly and meaningful manner.

Only Ocado do it wrong. They say they’ll be there between 10 and 11 and they actually arrive. On time and, worst of all, polite, efficient, helpful and considerate. I mean, WTF??? Just throw it in the kerb, take a photo of a fox taking a piss on it and drive off. Who needs all that contact?

This morning my younger daughter arrived at her empty flat (she’s moving in at the end of the month) at 7 because the delivery man (all hail) said he be there between 7.15 and 7.45 to deliver her bed. Her flat is on the second floor with no lift.

At 7.30 she called me. The bed was delivered but left in the lobby. Because ‘they don’t take them upstairs’. Why? Health & Safety. Oh. Whose ‘health and safety’, exactly? Not my daughter’s. And of course, not mine. As between us we manhandled a fucking great bed, flat-packed into the most awkward 2 packages possible, up the stairs.

I wanted to call the furniture people and demand they take it away and issue a full refund, especially the delivery charge. Because it was ordered to an address, not a general area. And should be delivered to that address. But of course, the mere manufacturers and suppliers are unworthies compared to the ‘delivery men!!!’, whose decision is final. As well as unhelpful, rude, and inconsiderate.

How did this happen?

Yours despairingly, with a bad back since this morning

A xxxx