Posted on Saturday 28th April 2007 at 00:00
I hear the rattle of the letter box and step out of my room to pick up the daily waste of paper that drops onto the mat at about this time each morning. But not today apparently, as the postal gods have chosen to withdraw the usual helping of junk mail in favour of delivering a grey plastic A4 envelope.

Curious to see which of the absent house mates have received the still unidentified item, I pick it up and turn it over. Seeing my own name above our address comes as something of a surprise to me and I nearly drop the thing in my excitement. It's a curious fact that whenever I receive post, a phone call, email or text message, I automatically assume that there has been some kind of mistake, and it must be intended for someone else.

What could it be?

It feels too light to be my copy of Shaggy Blog Stories and at any rate, if it were it'd be pretty battered by now in this envelope. Feels to light to be anything really, and besides I'm not expecting anything, so maybe that is exactly what I'm going to end up with.

It takes me some time to get into the envelope and with every bit of plastic ripped or tape torn I get more and more excited. Just as I've decided it has to be a cheque for a million pound and nothing less, I get the thing open, turn it upside down and wait expectantly to see what falls out.

Inside the envelope is a small plastic bag, within which I can clearly see what looks like a stopper for a bottle of wine. I stand there and stare at it for several seconds, turning it over in my hand and wondering why anyone would send me such a thing; then I remember.

It's the sodding foot for my damn fridge.

Sickened by the terrible anticlimax, I let the whole thing fall to the floor and go off to take a shower.

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