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A MAN in my position can’t be seen going into shops, so I order tons of stuff online. Actually, the main reason I do so is there are few shops where I live and I got fed up making two-hour round trips and coming home empty-handed.
“What do you mean you don’t have a rechargeable magnetic pickup tool with telescoping flexible LED Flashlights? Yes, I know you’re the village bakery but all the same …”
I feel guilty about all the stuff I get delivered, fearing the chaps in vans are thinking: ‘Yon bloke is addicted to shopping.’ So, I was glad to see a reader in the letters page saying he too received stuff all the time.
Mainly, I buy not on a whim but according to need: DIY tools, hard-to-find books about the afterlife, self-medication for pessimism, exotic booze.
That said, in the 1960s and 1970s the revolutionary Situationist movement said the basis of modern capitalism was “conspicuous consumerism”, of which I am definitely guilty. In fact, I was guilty of it even back then. I remember one fellow revolutionary criticising me in those exact terms because I’d bought a packet of Smash powdered potatoes. Harsh.
Online consumption is way more conspicuous than anything back then. Parcel deliveries have rocketed, yet the workers are badly paid and companies complain of poor profits while paying out huge dividends.
How is it possible to take a new or massively enhanced industry and not make it work to the advantage of everyone involved? What has happened to capitalism? It used to be quite good.
Here’s a quandary: how do some things, even outwith industrial action, take so long to arrive, weeks in some cases, particularly if from abroad? This morning, I received a T-shirt ordered three weeks ago. True, I hadn’t noticed it was coming from California. But I mean, don’t they have aeroplanes in America? Worse still, the T-shirt was supposed to make folk with dad-bods look lithe. Result: fail.
I know there’s been industrial action but that parcel didn’t come via Royal Mail. Courier companies complain they can’t do next-day delivery any more because they’re swamped with orders switching from Royal Mail.
But whether it’s Royal Mail or couriers, sometimes things, even in ordinary times, take an inexplicable age. I’d a postcard from Australia that took literally months. If something’s coming, even just from Englandshire, second-class or by courier, it can take a week or 10 days. My point is: how is that even possible?
It’s as if they punish the parcel for not being first class or express by shoving it in a skip and then, after a certain period, saying: “Right, that one’s waited long enough. We can let it on its way now.”
It’s not the workies’ fault. I back the posties all the way. Our other delivery guys are also fantastic, and they’re paid even less than the posties. Everybody out!
I record for balance, furthermore, that sometimes something sent from England via Royal Mail arrives in the back of beyond (ma hoose) less than 24 hours after ordering. How is that possible?
This year, I’ve decided to get into the spirit of Christmas by ordering things I’m not opening till the 25th: four books about Firefly, best TV series ever; Tolkien calendar; several guitar pedals.
Two pedals are coming from Germany, so they’ll probably be here by spring. By which time I hope to have a guitar to play them on.
Dark business
HERE’S what my life is like. For reasons that need not detain us I’d to drive somewhere urgently after dark. Genuine emergency. Driving in darkness is something I should no longer do. Last week, I nearly had a head-on collision. So, I decided, never again – for other people’s sake.
Yet here I was, no option, behind the wheel on icy country roads that have no cat’s eyes (presumably unaffordable in our advanced economy) and only sparse white lines, often faded to invisibility.
So, obviously, for the first time ever, journey underway, I received a warning on my dashboard that an anti-skid thingie had gone kaput. Excellent. Then another warning: a front light was out. Brilliant. If I’d to dip full beam, I’d be on half illumination.
Twice, deer ran out in front of me, something that hasn’t happened for years. Luckily, I encountered no other vehicles on the one-hour round trip, so could drive on full beam all the way. But these ill-timed happenings were ridiculous. And they were not by accident. They were by design. That is my theology. Life: a series of stupid challenges. You say: “There are others worse off than you, Roberto.” Exactly. Rubbish world. I rest my case.
Except: some days, I finish writing, for which I get paid (readers: “It’s an outrage!”) and step into the garden. Friendly birds flutter happily around me, as I go through the gate and walk in winter sunshine to the Lonely Shore, where I commune with my favourite tree (we don’t hug; just kind of shake hands). I ponder the sea and the mountains, take a short hike into the forest, and think: “It’s not all bad, is it?”
Cold comfort of home work
Government health experts say households must keep main rooms heated to at least 18C. Just checked mine (where I work) at 11:45am:11C. The idea of working from home with the heating on was always ridiculous, even before the energy crisis. So, man up, homeworking newbies. Get your coats on. We’re staying in.
Mind the gap
Chaps with gaps in their beards are getting hair transplants. Top experts say patchy beards look “unconvincing”. Full ones represent a “strong sense of conviction in a man, confidence, gravitas and wisdom”. That’s funny, I’ve a full beard, am indecisive, bewildered, scared of everything, and I talk tripe. Maybe I’ve got someone else’s beard.
Late news
I used to be punctual. But a busy life meant flying by the seat of my pants and never leaving enough travel time. Also, I didn’t want people to think I was German. However, it says here that arriving late at social events makes you respected and admired. Better still: don’t turn up at all.
Kicking asana
Yoga supposedly calms you, so it was surprising to see gurus doing their dinger at Western hippies in “namaste” T-shirts. This was – all together now – “offensive”. It’s true yoga has been twisted into sweaty workout sessions in the macho West. The yogis said it was “cultural appropriation”. Oh, lordy. I almost cared there.
Big shrimp
Think life is terrible now? It was worse in prehistoric times. Fossilised remains in yonder Morocco revealed the existence 470 million years ago of giant killer shrimps with bulging eyes on stalks and claws that could have your eye out. Imagine encountering one: “Who you calling a shrimp?”
Our columns are a platform for writers to express their opinions. They do not necessarily represent the views of The Herald.
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