I am a little depressed. Mainly it’s because I have had this cold for nearly two weeks now. I won’t describe my symptoms, everyone knows what a cold is like, it’s just the intensity and combinations of mucus expression that vary between colds and people. I’m not complaining about it being man-flu like a wimp though. Just sniffling and maybe a watery-eyed, red-nosed appeal to sympathy when Mrs B is around so I’ll get a good supply of tea.
I have been outside a little this week, well wrapped up but grey and cold walks on the beach or on the moors, but today I am resolutely in, waiting for a parcel to arrive. I’d like to just get out and get some air but I dare not miss this parcel again for the wrath of Mrs B will be upon me and my last snotty breaths will be painful ones.
Apparently they have tried to deliver it twice already. I have absolutely no idea exactly where I was the first time and I wasn’t aware at that stage that there was a parcel to miss. Then I found the card saying they had tried to deliver it in the door after getting home from my walk on Wednesday afternoon. Now I did know.
So I dutifully stayed in all day on Thursday. No parcel. Mrs B read out an email she received that night
“‘We tried to deliver your parcel today but have returned it to the depot as there was no answer.’ Where were you?”
She didn’t say ‘Grrrrr… but her eyes did. My watery-eyes, red-(pretty sore actually) nose and even some sorry sniffling groans added for the extreme circumstances demanded by the situation were of no help to me. I have no explanation, yes I did go outside to the garage to do a bit of bike fettling, yes, I did nip up the garden for a small while but, honest, I would have heard the bell, surely?
So today, on strict orders, I’m in waiting. It’s getting on for 4pm and the last tracking update was at 7.50am ‘Loaded. Out for delivery.’ It hasn’t changed despite clicking on the website once every half hour. Can’t take a shower, that would be a good 15 minutes of possible parcel delivery slot, it would be bound to happen then. I can see it now. Ding-dong! ‘fuckit!’ Bang, crash, towel, ow, burning eyes, my eyes arghhh…towel, downstairs, wet, cold, bash elbow on banister ‘fuckit, ow!’, rush to door, fling open, card in letterbox.
‘We tried to deliver your parcel today but have returned it to the depot as there was no answer.‘
The parcel apparently contains a Christmas gift for someone. Which makes it worse. I cannot tell you how much I resent Christmas and everything it has become. I don’t know anyone who remembers what it was like when it wasn’t a naked consumption-fest. There should be one of Donald’s ‘safe-spaces’ for us anti-Christmas types, where we can go from about the beginning of October when crafty local people start saying ‘Not long till Christmas now, why not send a handmade card?‘ on your village Facebook groups.
From November, before even the last explosive smell of fireworks has dissipated, it is absolutely everywhere. In fact, how many times do you think you have seen or read the word Christmas by the time it’s all over? It gets attached to everything as if, by the act of attaching that word, a tin of biscuits is imbued with some sort of special warmth-inducing power that Digestive biscuits just don’t have the rest of the year. I really have no idea if an Electric Toothbrush would be more ideal for Christmas than Gold, Frankincense or Myrrh, apparently the makers think it is though. If anyone asks what I ‘want’, I say ‘Nothing would be good.’
So I’m spending today waiting, for a parcel to arrive. It will arrive too late now to spend the rest of the daylight hours doing anything in any way enjoyable. I lose a day of my life waiting for a parcel for a gift for a festival I don’t do.
I told you I felt depressed.
EDIT: It came. It was my Christmas present from Mrs B.