D'you remember that film with Tom Hanks where he's a FedEx employee stranded on a desert island after his plane crashes.....?
There's a tagline which runs through the film to the effect that FedEx always delivers, or some such.
Well I am now prepared to believe it.
I was just about to check online the whereabouts of my postal package which has been on a global journey over the last week and was last logged languishing at Stansted, when a large FedEx van slowly pulled up outside, having successfully negotiated the road formerly known as Robsack Avenue, now known as Sheer Sheet of Ice.
The delivery driver gingerly climbed down onto the shimmering ice, and seconds later the doorbell rang and lo, my parcel was delivered.
As I was signing the electronic do-dah I commented that he was a brave man, making the attempt on a vertiginous icy wall of death in a large van. He smiled ruefully, and admitted that if he'd known at the bottom of the hill that it was quite so bad he might not have driven up. He also confided that instead of trying to struggle on up the hill to turn at the top (it's a cul-de-sac) he was going to try to reverse into the adjacent turning and hoped he wouldn't meet anything on the way down.
Aside from the FedEx delivery van I haven't seen any other vehicles driving up or down the road, so it looks like another day's incarceration for us. The pavement is similarly iced up, and PP had already fallen over and has developed a startlingly vivid bright purple and deep navy blue bruise, the size of a dinner plate on her derriere. So I'm inclined not to risk it.
Prodigal Son, who has been up in London for the past week, is due back today. Just hope he doesn't expect to be picked up from the station. Similarly, Gorgeous Daughter, who is currently in the wilds of Essex, is expected here for Christmas Eve but in view of the current conditions and the forecast, might not be able to get here.
A bit like her present.