Tesco Man visited me again today. I must admit – I find the whole “strange chap in my shed” business a little awkward, so much so that I have taken to doing Click ‘n’ Collect a bit recently, which I usually struggle to see the point of.
When Tesco Man arrives, he has to wait until I notice him. I can’t see the gate easily from The Shed, and the intercom doesn’t work. But a combination of beeping and telephone calls usually does the trick. Then, once he is safely over the perimeter of the large gothic gates and is making his way down the hurdle track that is our drive, I am usually there to greet him. I make small talk, and find myself pointlessly explaining our situation, over-sharing my shed life challenges, and generally spending too much time with this strange man after he’s walked up and down the length of my garden, usually at least twice.
It’s stressful for an antisocial creature like me.
By and large, though, Tesco Man is an amiable sort. I guess he is trained to be so. But running the gauntlet of bricks, blocks, rubble fields and the most uneven lawn is a bit beyond the call of duty, so usually, I hurtle up the garden with my Radio Flyer when I see the van at the gate, and ask Tesco Man simply deposit everything on the drive for me to ferry down to The Shed at my leisure. But today, for the first time in a while, Tesco man was having none of it. He was going to deliver that shopping to my home, regardless of it being a shed at the bottom of the garden and in spite of the obstacles in his way, if it was the last thing he did.
I was ever so grateful – Tesco man is always much nicer than I remember him to be, and once he is over the threshold of the Funny Little Bungalow, he’s usually quite chatty and interested in the project. Today’s Tesco Man even seemed to think nothing of the long bumpy amble with his trolley down to The Shed, not least because last time he came, he says, he had to walk the plank.
Poor bugger.
Today’s Tesco Man could even relate to shed life. He says he spent some time living in a shed once. He told me a tale about how he spent three weeks without water one winter, because the pipes hadn’t been lagged….
Big Seymour? Should I be worried?
The Four Little Seymours were not at home today to offer their own unique style of help in welcoming the shopping delivery. This made things easier. There’s nothing much more frustrating than having a small person know exactly what goes into the goodie cupboard, treading Warburtons Burger Buns into the grass on the long walk down the garden, or helping themselves to the good fruit before it even reaches the bowl. When the Four Little Seymours are involved, loaves of bread are left scattered all over the lawn, and my Garnier’s STOP TURNING INTO AN OLD BAG magic elixir potion is eyed covetously by the one who needs it least – Mini Seymour has a penchant for pilfering my nice stuff. But perhaps the most annoying thing they do is they point out exactly what I have not ordered in this week’s delivery. Surely we can cope without ketchup? Can’t we..?
Yes, it’s a novel way to do the food shopping, I’ll give you that. I used to think it was bad when our front door was bricked up and Tesco Man et al used to have to venture to the back entrance. But that was nothing. And for any Tesco Man who hasn’t been here before, I guess delivering to a house that looks a bit like something out of The Walking Dead could be a touch unnerving.
Soon (or not soon, who knows?), not only might I have a front door for deliveries to be brought to, but I might even have enough kitchen cupboards in which to put stuff away! Oh joy! The Radio Flyer will be redundant, and loaves of bread might remain edible after delivery.
But in the mean time, a walk down the garden with the shopping won’t hurt anyone, if Tesco Man is willing. And if he’s not? I’ll have to stick to delivery slots when the Four Little Seymours are home. They may be too few in number to make up a chain gang, and the bakery products may end up worse for wear afterwards, but at least it keeps them busy for twenty minutes, when Boy Seymour might be distracted long enough NOT to make a bayonet, and Mini Seymour won’t have the opportunity to gouge holes in my grass…
And in the general scheme of things at the moment, we must be grateful for small mercies, because every little certainly does help.
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