KNICKERS AND GIN WILL STAVE OFF THE SNOW

[TrueBlueTerrier]

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The doorbell rang as I was thawing out my fingers on the kettle, in preparation for administering the medicinal merits of a heart-starting gin and tonic.

Despondently humming: “It’s beginning to look a lot like frostbite,” I opened up to find Peter, a neighbour, at the step – and my front step was no place for a neighbour in a bone-chilling -12 degrees.

“A parcel for you,” he said.

“Really, you shouldn’t have!”

“Actually, I didn’t...”

But neither of us was in the mood for lame jokes. It was too icy, dark and late in yet another difficult Arctic day for hackneyed gags. And it never has been my experience that the old ones are best, anyway.

Spotting an M&S logo on the box, all became clear.

“Ooo! That’ll be my tights and knickers,” I said. “Thank you so much. I’ll need them in this weather.”

The penny dropped there and then that the time had come for some thank-yous.

Firstly to a neighbour who’ll trudge out in snow to deliver my underwear. Secondly to the lads at Brampton sorting office, who clearly know when to take pity on a woman who needs some.

It was in this column recently that I’d whinged (nay, ranted) at the uselessness of online shopping, which invariably results in packages being delivered when you’re at work, leaving you to collect them from sorting offices – open only when you’re at work.

No superfast broadband roll-out will fix that one.

But never underestimate the compassionate nature of a Cumbrian Royal Mail man. It is surely true that he – of all the UK's countless hero posties – is the super-softy of the lion-hearted.

In the interests of spared blushes, it’s probably best not to try to imagine the frosty conversations in Brampton’s draughty Craw Hall delivery office post whinge.

“That Pickles woman’s been ranting again. She’s missing her online tights and knickers. Someone should keep her off the computer.”

“Not our fault, guv. She’s never in when we deliver.”

“When she comes round here in a day or two you can give her a piece of my mind.”

But he didn’t. None of them did. And I never made it round. Instead, when snow deepened and mercury plunged to toe-curling depths, the thoughtful guys in the office connected with their feminine sides... and remembered my knickers.

Dropping the package at Peter’s, Brampton’s Sir Galahad postie assured me of winter warmth and ladder-free legs. And that was kind. He needn’t have done anything of the sort. Especially after I’d ranted.

“You must be showing your age,” Aly mumbled, when I boasted of our fine neighbours and thoughtful post people.

But she would say that. She sees little evidence of feminine side-connection in Leeds. And when did any bloke worry about her undies?

Everybody needs a bit of extra help in deepest winter. Actually, a bit of consideration doesn’t go amiss at any time of year, but in winter, when scant daylight conspires with the crippling cold and dumps the snow that global warming forgot, we could all do with a kindly thought and helping hand.

There are thanks due too to Agnes (next door) who has appointed herself as my bespoke weather centre. She phones as light falls each day to give an estimate as to whether or not I’ll make it make it up our icy hill back home.

This invaluable assistance is based on the premise that women need to stick together if they are to avoid accusations of bad driving.

“When a man skids it’s the road surface’s fault,” she asserts. “If a woman does it, she’s useless.”

It stands to reason that she likes to know I’ve arrived home safely since she was crucial to the negotiation of hazardous travel plans. So I called.

“Thanks for that, Agnes. Home safe and sound, car on the drive, about to pour a gin and t... Oh no. I’ve run out of gin!”

“I’ve got a bottle you can have. How quickly can you get to the back door?” she asked.

She’s a lifesaver, a one-woman rescue service and no mistake. Even Aly was impressed with that.

Cumbrian neighbourliness. It takes some beating – even if we are showing our age.

Let’s face it, there aren’t too many places in the world where the trials and tribulations of a deeply-disrupting winter can bring spontaneous and warm-hearted emergency doorstep deliveries of life’s staples – tights, knickers and a bottle of Gordon’s.

Thanks guys.

[stokes11eg]

Someone will be composing his well thought out response to this in the naughty room!

[DGP1]

must not reply..................I can't spend much more time in the naughty room, I'm beginning to scare myself