The man-hours lost through “sickies” being “chucked” must be nothing compared to the amount lost through people having to wait at home for stuff to be delivered, or for people to come around and repair digital satellite receiving equipment. Jenny has taken two days off recently to wait for someone who still hasn't turned up, as of this moment. I had to wait indoors very quietly on Tuesday to listen for Parcelforce ringing the doorbell to come and take something away, and I've had to do the same today for UK Pallets Ltd to deliver something. The fridge freezer I “won” on eBay, in fact.

Anyway, they've just delivered it.

“Thanks. Hm. I'm on the 3rd floor.”
“Well, you're in a bit of a pickle then, aren't you?” he said as he climbed back into the lorry.

So I just called my friendly neighbourhood to explain the situation. Pushchairs cannot currently enter or exit this block of flats, which is going to prove problematic at any moment. I will be lynched by angry mothers wielding sharp children. Neil eventually agreed to come around and assist in quite the most unenthusiastic tone I've ever heard anyone use, ever. And do I blame him? Of course I don't. I was horribly embarrassed to even ask. Would I do the same for him? I like to think so. Yes, I would. Surely I would.

Bloody fridge.