Earlier today I had a call from Grant Pickford (a name I use to protect the innocent):
“Hi Mr Andrews? This is Grant from Pickfords Wellington. I have a load of personal effects for delivery to you at 53 Kents Road?” The inflection at the end of the sentence made it sound like a question.
“The load is planned for tomorrow morning, at around nine/nine thirty. Will that be fine.” This didn’t sound like a question, but rather like a statement, a fait accompli. Based on the warehouse storage charges which is being billed to me, that certainly would be fine.
Half an hour later, a confirmatory email, requesting payment, read:
“Your shipment has cleared quarantine today. I assume our operations team have rung you to confirm a time for delivery for tomorrow. Attached copy of final invoice.”
(Above): I have marked out the proposed storage area where the delivery guys must pack Our Stuff in the garage. 21.95 cubic metres should fit in here. I hope.
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