Hey Mr Postman
I’m sat writing this blog in a high state of alert, under strict orders from my daughter Rachel not to move from the living room of maison de Strachan while she’s at work. The reason being the expected arrival of an urgent package that I’ll need to sign for.
No, it’s not the slightly delayed ‘My Little Pony’ we ordered her (as a 5 year old) in 1998, which still hasn’t arrived…….. Like the horse Shergar, I suspect the pony will never turn up after all these years, unless it’s in the shape of a My Little Glue Pot.
I’ve been given orders to stay in the living room all day by my youngest child as her visa and passport have not yet arrived. Her concern exacerbated by the fact it’s only two days before she leaves for a trip to China.
Rachel has been given assurances they will both arrive today by recorded post. However, due to the close proximity to her departure, she remains rather tense about the situation and doesn’t want me to miss the postman’s knock as a signature is required.
She didn’t stipulate whose signature, so I’m currently practicing Ainsley Scragg Athletic forward Persil Chump’s squiggle…… If it requires signing by anyone other than Gary Strachan or Persil Chump, our Rach might be in stum.
My offspring has placed me under real pressure here!
For example, earlier I was bursting to pee. This gave me a dilemma of risking going to the loo; not to mention if I did which toilet to use.
Do I dare utilise the one downstairs? ….. Located further away from the front door than the one at the top of the stairs, it would be the bathroom where I’d be more likely not to hear the door bell.
Dare I risk using the one at the top of the stairs, which goes against my daughters implicit orders that I can’t go upstairs?
In the end I used the one at the top of the stairs. Which wasn’t a problem until our landline phone rang. At that point I panicked, thinking I must not miss this call.
I managed to stop mid pee and, with as much haste as my bladder would allow without urinating on the landing, answered the phone in my bedroom.
“Hello, Is that Mr Maynard?” inquired the chirpy voice of a polite woman at the other end of the phone.
After I said no, she apologised for troubling me and rang off. I rushed back to the loo, again as hastily as my bladder would allow, to conclude the call of nature I’d started earlier.
Actor Bill Maynard – Have I just had one of his phone calls?
After washing my hands, it suddenly dawned on me how unnecessary it had been for me to interrupt a pee to answer the earlier telephone call.
After all, the postman wasn’t going to ring me to tell me he was at the door with a delivery I needed to sign for …….. For one thing the postman wouldn’t have our phone number……. If he did, I’d bloody want to know why!
Anyway, I’m currently sat at the table writing this on my laptop with one eye looking out of the front window, one eye on the front door and one eye on this narrative……. Blimey, I’ve just realised I have three eyes!!
I don’t know why I’m continually checking out of the window for the postman. After all, as my dad always used to say “A watched kettle never boils.” It was a saying that confused me, as when I watched kettles they always boiled…… Apart from the time I forgot to turn the electric socket on.
Some days, he’d mix his metaphors and say “A watched clock never boils.”, which I can confirm is true …… By the way, I have other hobbies that aren’t as boring as watching kettles and clocks to see if they boil!
Anyway, there goes the doorbell and through the frosted glass of the front door I can see a bloke in a very bright red jacket. It’s either the postman or Santa’s in need of a new calendar.
The Postman – Driving at speed to get Rachel’s documents here on time!