Evidence that Fran's front door has been a hive of activity today

Things which arrived through my door today.

One.

This envelope, minus the card it presumably had contained, dropped on the doormat in a plastic bag, bearing the message, 'The Post Office sends its apologies should any of the contents of this package be missing.'

I think it's from my brother, so I have messaged him to say, 'Was this card/non-card from you? If so, was there a mahoosive cheque in it?'

One can always hope.

What amused me was the Post Office's apology, which sounds tentative, as if it were only a slight possibility that the contents were missing when they know damn well they're delivering an EMPTY ENVELOPE. What's more, they deliver it in a sealed plastic bag, as though in itself an empty package is a PRECIOUS THING one should be grateful for, like one's BREATH.

Two

The next thing to arrive was Russell, delivering our groceries. For the first time, we'd ordered from Morrisons. We usually order from Tesco or Sainsburys, but we didn't get there in time to book a slot, because since the middle of August all the Christmas delivery slots had been taken by people on their summer holiday in Grimsby and hating it.

As soon as I meet someone called Russell, I want to ask them, 'Please shake around a bit, so I can see if it's true.' Or, 'Are you wearing pants made out of newspaper?'

I didn't though. I didn't want to tempt him to squeeze my box of eggs just a little too tightly as revenge.

Oo er. Why does that sound rude?

Russell stood on the threshold of our front door, telling me in a VERY LOUD VOICE to entertain the neighbours all the benefits that customers get from Morrisons: immediate free delivery should they be late arriving; the right to reject anything that didn't have a good sell-by date on it; the right to reject any substitution we weren't happy with; the opportunity to ask drivers called Russell if they were wearing newspaper pants.

The last one was a lie.

Three

Something else arrived with Russell. He handed me a package, before bringing the rest of the shopping in. 'This is complimentary,' he said, 'from Morrisons. Merry Christmas.'

Gingerbread reindeer!

'Run, run, as fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread reindeer that doesn't scan.'

'You know the way to a woman's heart, you wanton THING, you,' I longed to say to Russell, but as we'd only just been introduced, and as that bit of forwardness would probably have led to me asking the paper pants question after all, it seemed less than wise.

All I know is, if they were hoping to tempt us to make a second order from Morrisons, they were going the right way about it.

Four

The last thing to arrive was a film from Amazon Rentals called 'Still Alice'. I've read the book, which is all about a woman's experience of losing her memory through dementia, and I hear the film is excellent. So I ordered it. However, it's going to throw me into a fit of anxiety about whether I have the Early Signs, just like the book did. After I'd read it, I did all the tests available on the Internet about memory loss, once I'd remembered where I'd put my laptop. I came out mostly scoring 1 or 2 out of 10.

Apparently, just because I forget the names of major characters so that I embarrass myself in front of my English classes ('Er ... as you know, we're studying Romeo and Brenda for your GCSE') that doesn't indicate early dementia. Forgetting the names of your family members is more of a clue. And that hasn't happened so far.

I'll never forget Russell, I know that. A man who arrives at your door with a free packet of gingerbread reindeer stays long in the memory, even without the paper pants.