At about 02:30 local time last night, says William reading to the court from his notes, I observed a suspicious milk delivery. Now, I need you to know that I am not yet so old that what happens outside my window is my entire world, but when you’ve finished three hours of studying your bedroom ceiling, you’ll take anything.<\/p>\n
Plus it’s recycling day and our council has us using these large blue sack things that as yet have not blown away on a whim, but it didn’t half sound like that’s exactly what they were doing last night. I don’t know how I could confuse the sound of plastic sacks scraping across the ground with that of a pickup van scrunching to a halt and its five crates of glass milk bottles cuddling up together, but I do know that I have now had five more hours to consider it.<\/p>\n
Which raises questions for me such as whether it’s still hot enough here that the milk bottle I saw the driver take to a house will pasteurise by the time that household wakes up and spots it. Or whether that was in fact precisely why this little van had been as loud as it could be, so that whoever had the milk was alerted to its delivery. Maybe it was an urgent one. Maybe it was an Amazon Prime same-day delivery and the milk had been ordered after midnight. Maybe the cows were on a night shift. <\/p>\n
I don’t mean my neighbours.<\/p>\n
Look, I couldn’t sleep, you’ve gathered that. All week, I’ve managed to get to bed just ahead of fainting with tiredness, then my head says hello to the pillow and that’s it, sleep is no more than a fond childhood memory. And in the entire eight hours since, all I’ve usefully thought about is who in the world still gets milk delivered. Not true: I’ve also thought about the history of the milk float, which I think now must have been among the earliest electric vehicles. Elon Musk’s fortune probably started with a milk round. Or this second, talking to you right now, I’ve flashed back to perhaps the 1990s when for absolutely no reason, a milk float driver glared at me like I was responsible for the decline of deliveries and the death of his tortoise. He deliberately drove his float slowly, possibly in tribute to the dead, so that I was stuck in my car, blocked for the longest possible time. There is of course no difference between an intentionally slow milk float and one racing at its top speed, but by god that driver was going to make whatever his point was.<\/p>\n
That’s the most action-packed thought I’ve had all night and I think you’re probably glad I shared it with you. <\/p>\n
Fridays are my busiest day of the week and sharing with you here is always the good start, the bit I look forward to, the bit where we’re just chatting and the mad-dash morning doesn’t have to begin quite yet. No, I’ve got, looks at watch, at least a minute now. Eight hours solid absence of sleep and now I’ve half a minute before I have to start rushing. I should’ve used these hours more productively, you’re quite right.<\/p>\n
And I strongly suspect that you’re also right when you think that now it’s daytime again, now that I have to be working, I am going to fall asleep. I need tea.<\/p>\n
But of course we’re out of milk.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
At about 02:30 local time last night, says William reading to the court from his notes, I observed a suspicious … Continue reading