So much for the art of conversation, it seems people are only part following Elvis’ advice when he advised a little less conversation and a little more action please. Actually, the guy who was supposed to deliver me a mountain of compost listened to half of that advice and ignored the other half.
The plan seemed simple enough, he arrives at my house with 120 litres of compost which I use to grow this years crop of potatoes in the scrap of land I call a garden. Now, although I live a mere 7 minute walk from a B & Q store with garden centre, the thought of making 6 trips back and forth to lug 20 litres sacks of compost was too much to bear and I figured for a mere £10 more to have someone deliver it to my door I was not so much being lazy but assisting a local business in these times of recession. Yes, OK, perhaps I am just lazy but it was a win-win solution, or so I thought!
The compost man, as I will now refer to him, was supposed to arrive at 6pm. This had been sorted out by email and a call from him to my mobile phone. I was slightly cursing the turn of events as there was an opportunity to go see Sylvia at the ENO free tonight but I passed up on it to be home for compost man’s delivery. Although I’m not a real fan of ballet, when it’s free I don’t mind experiencing it in the belief that it may turn out to be one of those things I discover I like as I get older; well, it worked with brussel sprouts!
So, I finished work, stopped by Violette’s swanky office to give her some ballet tickets and then arrived home around 5.30pm to see the answerphone light blinking away, the robotic voice informed me I had 1 message which was left at 11.27am… it was compost man… he was terribly sorry but he wouldn’t be able to deliver the compost tonight and he’d email me to sort out another time!
Now, given that I could have been indulging in some free culture had I known compost man wasn’t coming I was a bit annoyed. Then my annoyance increased as I was making a cup of tea because I thought to myself he could have called me on my mobile or even emailed me at 11.27am rather than leaving a message on my home phone which I wouldn’t get until I got home… I didn’t even want to give him my home number but he insisted on taking it to be sure I was in when he delivered!!
So, when/if he contacts me I’ll tell him not to bother and I’ll instead start working up the enthusiasm to flex those back muscles as I test them out with 20 litre sacks of compost from the B & Q at the end of the road… so much for helping small businesses in these times of recession; compost man can go to the wall for all I care!
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