The delivery

 

Something very strange happened recently. I can hardly believe it. But I remember it as if it was yesterday. That's because it was yesterday when it happened.

I was about to sit in front of the TV and record a football game over and old recording of Downton Abbey. Why do people bother to record Downton Abbey I do not know. There's no car chases in it and people wear funny costumes. But it was the only DVD disc we had left and I thought I'd record over it. No one would notice, and anyway they repeat Downton Abbey so often that we can record it again in a few days time.

As I was saying, as I prepared to record the football game, there was a knock at the door. I opened the door and there was this delivery man there from one of the Internet shopping websites trying to deliver a horse. He tried pushing it through the letter box but the horse was too large to fit through the small aperture normally designed to accept letters and small packets.

So I asked him, "First of all, why has this horse got black and white stripes all over it? Is it the bar code that someone forgot to remove? And secondly, why did you not ring the bell as any normal person would have done?"

He was totally nonplussed. So much so that I did not understand what the word meant and had to look it up in the dictionary afterwards. Something you might care to do as well.

He replied, "It is not a horse Sir. It is a zebra. Secondly, I did ring the bell but it does not seem to be working. That's why I knocked at the door!"

"Of course the bell works," I replied totally unfazed by his impertinence, "here let me show you."

I let him in the house and shut the door. Then I pressed the bell button once or twice. 

No response.

I pressed the button again and kept my finger pressed for a long time.

Still no response.

I pressed once more and kicked the door hard.

Totally no response.

I then realised two things.

I had been locked out of my own house. And I had not ordered a horse, or a zebra, on the Internet.

In total panic I muttered to myself, "what do I do now?"

The horse did not care. It just snorted "Pfffftttt ..." like horses often do. 

I left the horse, or zebra, there and ran through to the back garden where fortunately the back kitchen door was unlocked.

I entered the house. The delivery man was sitting in my armchair, watching the football on TV and, to add insult to the non-delivery of a horse, he had eaten all my doughnuts I had ready on a plate.

"What do you think you are doing?" I asked rather disappointed by his behaviour.

"Oh sorry," he said, "the football was on and I did not hear you ring the doorbell. Thanks for the doughnuts by the way. I just got a text message on my cell-phone. The zebra is not meant for you anyway. Must go now."

He did not even bother to record the game. 

Downton Abbey wins again!