I thank the Vegetable Delivery Lady as she hands over the heavy box. There have been a succession of Vegetable Delivery Ladies since the original one hastily moved out of the county, plus the occasional man with a beard. I wave as she goes on her way.
She has a cheerful disposition, as have her predecessors. I do not blame her. Sometimes I think that I would love to drive around delivering vegetables all day and chatting to customers, especially fit ones like me (but women fit ones), instead of the stressful job that I have, viz looking after the Baby and sending important emails ect ect. It would get me out of the house and stop me from going mad from the lack of visitors or human contact, and be a lot cheaper than pills or drink.
There is a cabbage in the box!!! I make excited noises about it to some friends who are visiting, despite the fact that nobody ever visits. They are unimpressed. I tell them that I like cabbage. They appear to regard this as an affectation. I point out that I had served them delicious cabbage the previous evening for dinner. Controversy grumbles over the cabbage issue.
We go to the pub for lunch. I order a pie and some cabbage. I sense that they think that I have done this in a macho ‘I am going to eat more cabbage and pretend to like it even though I don’t really’ way. They are wrong, as I would have ordered just cabbage if this was the case, as it would have been cheaper without the pie. Both are delicious.
There is left over roast chicken for dinner tonight. I am going to warm it up, and serve it with some cabbage.
My visitors have left.