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Exactly how much shite can one man buy on eBay? A newsletter to find out...
I wanted to start this week’s newsletter by saying thank you from the bottom of my cold, dead heart to all the people who took the time to write back after last time, telling me why you read this, what you liked, and generally propping up my shaky sense that I might actually be bringing something good into the world by writing down my thoughts, such as they are.
Wow, that’s a long sentence.
So, I’m going to keep writing it. Thanks for sticking with me.
Hot off the heels of me wondering whether ‘stupid stories about what Lee buys’ might have run its course, he arrived home the next day clutching a small package. This in itself isn’t unusual. We’re probably averaging around three parcels a day on a good week.
Mostly these will be trivial household items that simply can’t wait, or obscure and tiny replacement parts for whatever car Lee owns that day. Sometimes they are things that have been delayed or lost due to the fact that our house is about as impossible to find as it gets for delivery drivers who are relying on either 1. The postcode, which directs you to a gap in the space-time continuum, or 2. The actual address, which contains the name of a completely different street to the one our house is actually located on, or 3. The evidence of their own eyes when they see the state of our driveway and steps to the front door, and assume wrongly that this must be a scrapyard, not a house.
We’ve been halfway through a building project for the past – oooh, six years now. The latest iteration of this involved Lee hiring a mini-digger and (thankfully, this time) a friend who actually knew what he was doing. Together, they proceeded to dig a three feet deep channel right the way across the whole garden. Due to circumstances beyond anyone’s control, unfortunately the things this massive trench wrecked included the driveway, the only path across the lawn, the main steps, the paved path and thus the entirety of the journey from our gate to our front door.
What’s we also didn’t foresee was that although the actual digging of this huge trench was quite straightforward, finding a builder who was available before the second coming of christ to rebuild things was slightly less so. Consequently, although most of the trench is now filled, the steps we wrecked are still, well - wrecked. What this means in practice is that confused-looking delivery drivers now have to stand at the top of a rocky precipice, waving their parcels hopefully in the general direction of the house until I come out in my socks. Then, unless they fancy a bit of (what in Peak District rock-climbing terms is known as) ‘light scrambling’, they just have to hurl the parcel in my general direction and hope for the best.
Anyway. Lee deposited this small package on the counter, chatting distractedly about his day as the children clamoured around for him to open it. They’re primed, in the same way social media ruins your brain with uncertain rewards and intermittent dopamine hits. Because every now and again one of his mystery packages will be some kind of gadget that the children have neither asked for nor need but still delight in (case in point – this week, a tiny, mobile DJ mixing console arrived. Why? No-one knows.)
“Daddydaddydaddy, open it! What is it!!” they both chanted relentlessly, the air hot with anticipation. Lee replied that he had no idea, no clue, no recollection of ordering anything in the last two days, but we all stood back as he tipped out the contents onto the counter top. Surprise and delight dawn slowly across his face.
“Why have you ordered...” I squinted “eight identical massive keys, Lee?”
He brandished one joyfully a little too close to my face.
“Guess what THESE are!!!!” he cried
Paving slabs. A new kettle. Some pesto. These are things we actually need.
I took a wild guess. Keys to anything we might already own? This was an outright no. Keys to a better house with a lot of back doors? Nope. The beginning of some kind of Indiana jones live action role-play mystery game? Shake of the head.
Beaming from ear to ear, Lee explained how – but crucially, not WHY we might ever need – THESE KEYS, would OPEN, any, literally ANY...
(the suspense was killing us all)
“...ANY! Imagine! ANY!! - and I’m not entirely sure if this is true, but you just never know so I ordered them anyway – ANY PUBLIC SHOWER ROOM IN THE WHOLE COUNTRY!!!!!”
A defeated pause from all present. The cat wandered in and, sensing danger, out again.
I consider the sum total of times in my life I have needed to use, let alone been aware of the existence of, ‘public shower rooms’. And then, in rapid succession, the intrusive thoughts as to why, if the door to such a room was already locked, any reasonable person might want to open it.
This was four weeks ago now.
It’s not clear whether the efficacy of the magical keys has yet been tested, but as far as I know, Lee has not been arrested during this time so I suspect not. Maybe it’s an urban myth. Maybe they don’t work, maybe they do. Either way, this would not explain why any normal person (two hands, just the one body etc) would see fit to order eight of them but I’m just telling you all this as a public service really.
If you’re ever tempted to use a public shower, just probably don’t, ok?
What’s going on
This week I am off to see what is apparently the world’s best play, Jerusalem. It wasn’t anything I had heard of but my friend got the tickets, and she has reliably promised me that it will be the best thing my tiny human eyes will ever look upon, so I’m excited. It stars Mark Rylance, who is literally the finest actor on god’s earth. Tickets available for the cost of your kidneys here.
I’m also off tonight to watch a polo match with some girlfriends, assuming they don’t bar me entry on account of probably lowering the average net worth of the people in the room by several billion. Never been before. Anticipating getting myself a new, titled, husband with a couple of country estates, or at the very least some second-base fumbling in a horsebox if the Jilly Coopers I’ve read are to be believed. Watch this space.
I really could not tell you why, but this made me laugh so hard
If you’re on twitter, you have probably already read this thread, but if not, please enjoy this wonderful tale.
I’m reading Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason at the moment, and it is utterly wonderful. The kind of effortlessly funny, moving, joyful and poignant writing I aspire to - highly recommend it.
Finally, I missed the first instalment but the TV adaptation of Dolly Alderton’s brilliant book Everything I Know About Love started yesterday. It’s available to binge in full on iPlayer and should be excellent.
That’s all for this time. See you for the next bi-monthly newsletter in ooooooh November if past form is anything to go by. Toodles!
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About me
My brother told me that all the blurb I usually put here is too long and boring, so for brevity, I’m Lindsay Butcher and I write words down for a living. I’ll write for you too if you like. Come follow me on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram.
Want to read more? Check out previous newsletter editions here, or feast your brain on my blog AndOtherIdiots.
I don’t get paid to write this, but you can show your appreciation and buy me a coffee.
While you're concentrating on the parcels that get delivered to the house you are not concerning yourself with the deliveries to the office! ;-)