Ptolemy And The Oven

My bird is back. And he now has a name. It seemed only right.

Ptolemy still leaps up on the bird table and scoffs all the seed in one sitting. Or rather, one precarious balancing act on the rim of the wood. We’ve tried to discourage it. Mike gave him his own little pile of seed on the drain cover below the kitchen window. But Ptolemy gobbled that and then flew straight to the bird table and demolished what was there as well. The table has developed a distinct cant to the right. Breakfast over, he seeks out a little suntrap in which to rest and digest his meal. Unless it’s raining. Today he had his head stuck into a hydrangea with his back end sticking out..


In other news.

Last week I ordered the appliances to go into the new kitchen. In a previous and more affluent life, I’d have got the kitchen design company to do all the running about. But needs must, the project management buck stops here. I found the best price online and they’ve just been delivered. But oh for heavens sake, what a palaver.

The supplier insists that each item is checked on receipt. Any returns must go back there and then, or not at all. I wonder if they’ve ever tested out their own process? How many couriers do you know prepared to hang around while you unpack and minutely inspect two ovens, a warming drawer and a hob? Especially when they’ve just had to wheel them several hundred yards down a 1 in 4 hill?

Not many I would suggest. And definitely not those who have already had a bad day. “WHHAAT? I haven’t got time for that…”

Much pacing about. Hands flying around and voices raised. Mike tried to placate him and showed him the instructions we had received from the supplier. I start tearing at cardboard and plastic wrap, but the packaging is complicated and it’s taking an age.

“We’ve got other deliveries to make you know….  and I’m running late already…”

I refuse to be intimidated. I’ve been told to inspect and inspect I will. Justifiably, as it turned out. Three out of the four items were scratched or damaged in some way. Most of the delivery now needs to be repackaged and pushed back up the hill. It didn’t go down well.

“That’s not in MY instructions… I only came to deliver them!” He snatches his phone from his back pocket. “You’ll see..” One couldn’t fail to be impressed by the man’s confidence and air of self importance. Clearly more suited to the stage than delivery driving, he punches in the number for Head Office and presses the call button with a dramatic flourish. No signal.

At the top of the drive, there’s a queue of cars in the single track road waiting, impatiently, to get past the delivery van. We get to keep the steam oven, but I can do without the grief. Not least because, next week, we’ll have to go through it all again.