Well, I got Killing Che from Random House in the US. They sent it by courier. I tell you their customer service is something not a few companies could emulate, including Random House Australia. But here’s the thing, I got a call yesterday afternoon from the courier. He said, “I’ve got a delivery for you.”
“Yes,” I said slowly.
“Do you want to come and get it?”
“Well, where are you?”
“Outside your front door.”
Obviously he’d never mastered the art of getting out of his van and knocking on the door. Soon people will wonder what that piece of metal on the door is for.
Talking of courtesy and manners, I took the nippers to a playday at the house of one of Six’s friends last week. Another schoolfriend was there with his mother too. She told me that her child had burped loudly in the car the other day and not said, excuse me or pardon me. She told him off and her husband said, “What are you having a go at him for, it’s not the 1950s.”
Oh, I didn’t realise December 30th 1959 was the date when we all could stop saying, pardon me.
I'm glad I found out.
It must be open season on breaking wind in public too, and especially in office meetings and while taking a ride in a taxi.