Last Friday, I had to be in London (again!). I waved goodbye to Molly at 0730 and set off blearily for the station. Gosh it was cold. Near Luton, there was even snow. And London was perishing, with that wind that goes right through you no matter how many layers you have on.
Now, Friday is my standard Ocado delivery day. They deliver between 6 and 7. I had failed to take this into account when booking my return train, with the result that we pulled into the station at 1759. This would not normally have been a problem, since I would have telephoned Ocado, explained, and promised to be there in five minutes. However, my phone had died - and no, it wasn't from lack of juice, it's EE's fault, but that's another story. Praying that Ocado would be late, I jumped into a taxi and we raced for home. Imagine my relief when I arrived to find the van at the door and the delivery man about to reload all my shopping. I grovelled, he was charming, and we headed into the flats together.
So what has Molly got to do with all this? I hear you ask. I opened the door and the man and I entered together. Molly was furious. She was not amused at me turning up with somebody else and therefore not being able to give her my immediate, undivided attention. By the time he left, probably no more than three minutes later, she was in a high strop and refusing to talk to me or take any notice of me. She did not calm down for almost an hour.
Now, that's a real prima donna!
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