Waiting for Argos

Saturday 4 July

Earlier in the week, I ordered some items from Argos. Possessing neither a car nor super-human strength I had to have them delivered. Being at work during normal delivery times, I opted for the Saturday delivery service. How convenient it is of them to deliver at the weekend, and for only double the normal delivery charge.

Delivery hours on a Saturday are from 7am to 3pm. Why, that's a mere 9 hours to have to spend indoors on a summer's day - jumping in and out of the shower with barely time to wet the body; not daring to venture into the back garden to hang out the washing; keeping the radio at low volume; all for fear of not hearing the doorbell and finding the dreaded 'We called, but you were out.' card on the doormat.

When I was younger, such was my vanity that I would have risen at 6am in preparation for their visit - convinced that they would be calling at 7.01 am precisely. Not only that, but that Argos would be sending their equivalent of Johnny Depp to deliver my order and I couldn't possibly open the door in less than smart clothes and full make-up. Indeed, the anticipation of any kind of male visitor to my door, be it postman, delivery man, meter reader or plumber, would have me up at the crack of dawn to make myself presentable for their arrival.

After many years of doorstep disappointments, it's finally struck home that there are no Johnny Depps working in those industries, or if there are they don't get sent to my address.

So today I slept in until 11.20 and stayed in my pyjamas and dressing gown while I made breakfast. Just as the sausages and bacon were browning nicely under the grill, the doorbell rang. It was the Argos man. Without even a glance in the hall mirror, I went to answer the door. I did hesitate momentarily - maybe, just maybe, this time it would be Johnny Depp.

My fears were unfounded. I opened the door and there, as usual, stood Benny Hill.