Returns and arrivals

My super special saucy package arrived "express delivery" yesterday - David practically mugged the Royal Mail driver who was smirking because he'd already delivered a similar looking package to Jane Opposite (who was standing on her doorstep, ripping open packaging, waving contents at me and screeching "My Bill's in for a good night tonight!!") and Marjorie Stewart (three trips from van to front door - I kid you not). David cared not a jot - he managed a quick peek before his mother and Margaret descended the stairs for breakfast and his beam was bigger than the godawful T-shirt Amelia presented me with.

Yes, the Dublin Duo have returned. Poor Jack Next Door left his house at 6 o'clock on Friday night and didn't get back until gone midnight. During their week away I averaged about 11 calls a day from Amelia and Margaret but could either one of them pick up a phone to tell us that their flight had been delayed? Of course not. Jack was left hanging around from 8.25pm (when they were due to land) until ten to eleven when they finally came out of baggage claim. On ringing Ryan Air at 8.30, David reported that they'd been delayed, Amelia had her mobile switched off and Jack was on his second coffee. When he finally had the intrepid travellers in his car and heading back to London he rang to ask what he should do with them. What could I say? I couldn't ask him to divert to Sevenoaks could I? Although I wished I had.

They both bustled through the door at half past twelve, woke up the entire household and presented us with presents that I'd be too ashamed to send to the jumble. Apart from my T-shirt (lurid green with the scribblings of a mad man front and back and about six sizes too big), David was presented with a three pack of pants in sludge green, an Irish rugby shirt and a condiments set. Mackenzie did slightly better with a nicer T-shirt, a leprachaun toy and a set of postcards. Jack thanked them both for his Guinness gift set and went home, no doubt to collapse into bed. Meanwhile, we had to get them off their Irish high so David and I could actually get to bed. They, on the other hand, were intent on sitting up with us in the living room telling us all about their adventures. Amelia was the main story teller with Margaret chipping in the odd anecdote and correcting Amelia which started off a row. Their opening words were "We got to the end of your road on Monday morning......"

Yesterday, after we had taken delivery of my super special package, David spent about an hour trying to convince them that they really should head off for home. He even went as far as to start putting their cases in the boot and appeared, at quarter past eleven, in his jacket and jangling his car keys. Amelia shot him a look and asked Margaret to check in the fridge "to see what's for dinner". I must have had a pyschic moment in Sainsbury's on Friday because I bought a double pack of Penguins with 50% extra. I'd never normally do this but mum or Gladys were obviously with me for did I need every single crumb of them by the time Casualty started.

Still. It's now twenty to five and David has just called - he's on the A21 on his way home having deposited the Dynamic Duo in Sevenoaks. Mac has worn himself out in the garden (a cunning plan hatched by David after he took a closer look at the contents of the package) and is all but begging me to send him to bed early. The poor child is almost face down in his fish pie as I type (laptops are so handy - can supervise tea time and terrorise cyber space). He also showed an interest in my package and asked me if I had a "dead bird in there mummy?".

"What did you buy?" Bea asked me earlier when she rang to complain that the seams in her stockings "are extremely wonky and I can't straighten them" and the "apricot massage oil smells more like blueberries". Put it this way, I told her, it's not the sort of underwear you'd wear every day - unless of course, you were Dita Von Teese.