Actually this was last Saturday. Poetic licence.
He’d better. Or she of course. First, let it be said that I slept on the floor (on a rug on a sleeping-bag on a carpeted floor), this being something I occasionally do having absorbed that sleeping on a hard surface forces muscles to relax. Indeed I slept like a log but well gee what with one thing and another (it may be called winter) it’s been a long time and in consequence I arose at what my father would have called the crack of sparrowfart with aches in places I didn’t know existed. Just in time for a nice cuppatea and said being. I hope. I am not good at intermittently peering hopefully out of the window waiting for delivery or repair persons to call. When I die, Ocado shall be engraved on my heart, they being the only delivery persons I have come across who work within one-hour slots. In sharp contrast to this is Homebase who callously inform the customer the delivery will be made between 7 am and 8 pm. I digress.
In this case the window of opportunity is between 8 am and 12 noon. H/She cometh as part of the help scheme for the aged and infirm, which I am not, but my 91-year-old mum, with whom I share a front door, undoubtedly is, had not absorbed anything was to happen to the television signal, and was a little cross when I explained. How dare they mess about with my television without asking! It may therefore be, I guess, that I shall have to drag her callously from her bed to prove she exists, that the relatively young person answering the door is not perpetrating a scam, though I suppose I could have some disability not immediately apparent - vision? - necessitating aid.
Temporary difficulty picking the bloody newspaper off the bloody doormat doesn’t count. There is that roughly between the hip bones at the back which is prepared to protest at unaccustomed stretching and whatever the hell it is protest it did. I guess my night of depthless slumber stre-e-e-t -c -hed flat was interpreted by my torso as 8 hours of exercising whatever. Later I went for a walk and found most satisfyingly that I was walking properly erect stretching out of my hips.
I digress. A most excellent young man was at the door by 8.30 and gone by 9, the deed done. The whole service was seamless.
He’d better. Or she of course. First, let it be said that I slept on the floor (on a rug on a sleeping-bag on a carpeted floor), this being something I occasionally do having absorbed that sleeping on a hard surface forces muscles to relax. Indeed I slept like a log but well gee what with one thing and another (it may be called winter) it’s been a long time and in consequence I arose at what my father would have called the crack of sparrowfart with aches in places I didn’t know existed. Just in time for a nice cuppatea and said being. I hope. I am not good at intermittently peering hopefully out of the window waiting for delivery or repair persons to call. When I die, Ocado shall be engraved on my heart, they being the only delivery persons I have come across who work within one-hour slots. In sharp contrast to this is Homebase who callously inform the customer the delivery will be made between 7 am and 8 pm. I digress.
In this case the window of opportunity is between 8 am and 12 noon. H/She cometh as part of the help scheme for the aged and infirm, which I am not, but my 91-year-old mum, with whom I share a front door, undoubtedly is, had not absorbed anything was to happen to the television signal, and was a little cross when I explained. How dare they mess about with my television without asking! It may therefore be, I guess, that I shall have to drag her callously from her bed to prove she exists, that the relatively young person answering the door is not perpetrating a scam, though I suppose I could have some disability not immediately apparent - vision? - necessitating aid.
Temporary difficulty picking the bloody newspaper off the bloody doormat doesn’t count. There is that roughly between the hip bones at the back which is prepared to protest at unaccustomed stretching and whatever the hell it is protest it did. I guess my night of depthless slumber stre-e-e-t -c -hed flat was interpreted by my torso as 8 hours of exercising whatever. Later I went for a walk and found most satisfyingly that I was walking properly erect stretching out of my hips.
I digress. A most excellent young man was at the door by 8.30 and gone by 9, the deed done. The whole service was seamless.