The website was fine. Parting with the money was only slightly painful, and the anguish was mental not physical. Noting the electronic diary to remain at home for the delivery was a a calm relaxed and problem free task.
Then the wait, will my last bottle of Gosling's Black Seal last out until the delivery arrives? No problems were experienced with the confirmation of order emails. I took them in my stride and managed a couple of rum free nights, seeking solace in some fine malt whisky.
The day dawned, and the tracking system confirmed that my delivery was on the way. It was a cold and stressful day. The boiler failed, I had consumed the last of the Goslings in a Dark and Stormy the previous night. There was no alternative. No way back.
as the morning progressed I gradually put on more clothes. No plumber and no rum. The gas fires burned brightly, but made little impact. Hot drinks did not ease the tension. I couldn't concentrate on a book. I tried watching the 2003 rugby world cup final on DVD. Not interesting any more. Still I waited.
Then just short of noon, the door was thumped. The rum had arrived. I made a mark on the electronic receipt - a confused illiterate squirl, bearing no resemblance to a signature and reached for the knife.
My wrists survived, and within a couple of minutes I was able to check the contents of my delivery. The first modest sip brought total relief. My day was complete. The rum had arrived on the specified day and my pain was eased. To hell with the plumber, sod the heating, all's well with the world.
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