(Dress: Pinup Couture; Shoes: Faith. I’m not going anywhere so I figured I may as well dress for dinner...)
You see this dress, readers? This dress is a hero.
I ordered it one Monday afternoon, from a company based in LA. It arrived first thing the following Wednesday morning – in fact, it got us out of bed. I like to think that the moment my order was received, the dress jumped off the shelves and took off down the highway, dodging all obstacles in its path and leaping buildings in a single bound in order to get to the airport, where it hopped onto the first available flight to the UK, in order to be with me.
Like I said: a hero.
This dress crossed the United States, and then crossed the Atlantic Ocean, in less than 48 hours. Royal Mail, meanwhile, have had my packages for seven days now, and have been unable to transport them the two miles from their sorting office to my house. Two miles, people. Seven days. What’s more, when I called them this morning they said they have “absolutely no idea” when they’ll be able to deliver these packages, and that they’re not even going to try for the time being.
I’m not getting any of my parcels before I go on holiday, folks. They as good as guaranteed that. Given that many of those parcels were things I’d bought specifically FOR the holiday, that kind of sucks.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re all “Two miles?!” surely you could get off your lazy ass and walk it to collect the stuff if you want it that badly?”
You’re right. I could. And I absolutely would, no problem. But when I presented this idea to the Royal Mail, they stopped me in my tracks. I can’t collect the parcels, they said, because they haven’t even sorted them into areas. “See, we have a few hundred parcels here right now,” said the man I spoke to. “And they’re all jumbled up. We don’t even have them sorted into different areas, so it would take hours to go through them all to find even one of them.”
(I offered to go down and do this myself. They wouldn’t let me. At this point the most frustrating thing isn’t the fact that the mail can’t be delivered: it’s the fact that my stuff is sitting in an office just a couple of miles away, but I can’t get access to it.)
(Can we call them the Royal Fail now, or would that just be too much, do you think?)
I did, however, manage to get two of my parcels today, but only because of my other hero: Terry. These were parcels which were with courier companies in Edinburgh. Somehow they’d both managed to make it all the way up the country, through those great “snowfields of England” as Sky News now persist in calling them, and to the Edinburgh delivery office. After that, though, they apparently dropped off the face of the earth, because not only did those offices not deliver the packages, they didn’t even bother to update the tracking page to tell us they wouldn’t be delivering. Terry finally managed to get hold of someone on the phone this morning, and was told they wouldn’t even be attempting to come into our town because it was “too snowy”. So he jumped into the car, and drove out there and back himself. Yes, through the OMGSNOW. It took him exactly the same amount of time it always takes to get there. Isn’t that amazing?
So Terry, you’re my hero. You and my green dress.