Man becomes embroiled in supermarket delivery service tug-of-love.
I've had a reply to my strongly-worded letter to Sir Terry Leahy, the Chief Executive of Tesco Plc, which I'll place behind this 
so that you don't have to read it. I've blacked out my address, as this is a public post, although I've left in the bit that says "Road" - I don't mind people knowing I live on a road, although please don't abuse that information, or I may be forced to move to an avenue or crescent. You'll notice that Leahy hasn't bothered replying personally - no, he's roped in some minion called Lynda Thompson. Come on Leahy, I want to talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey. Well anyway Lynda's made the schoolboy error of calling me "Mr wardytron," rather than just wardytron. You wouldn't called Sting "Mr Sting," would you. Or Skeletor "Mr Skeletor." Well I know what Leahy's up to - basically he's stalling for time, isn't he. He could easily return that quid, but no, he's got it in the bank earning interest. Right now he's making a very tidy £0.00137 each day. Oh I know it doesn't sound a lot, but if he leaves it 2 weeks it's a whopping £0.01918. Say he's got a thousand of these scams going on at any one time, he's making over 19 quid a fortnight. No wonder their profits are so high.
Well not any more, Leahy. Over the past few weeks I've been getting emails from other supermarkets, begging me to try their delivery service. Ocado, Asda, you name it. Well actually it's just those two. I don't know why they've all suddenly started fighting for my attention, but they're all clearly smitten. Of course, there's part of me that's enjoying all this. You can't deny that it's flattering to have three supermarket grocery delivery services battling it out over you. Oh I know Mumward brought us up to be chaste and not to go around flaunting our wares, but perhaps it's this very innocence of mine they find so beguiling. I mean, you can't deny I have a certain coquettish je ne sais quoi. But then, who can explain the mysteries of human attraction? Who knows what first attracted Marc Antony to Cleopatra? What was it about Juliet that so captivated Romeo? Why was it that Dollond knew he could never love anyone but Aitchison? And so on.
They've started offering me ever more grandiose and extravagant gifts, as though I was some kind of floozy whose affection was something that could be bought. A complimentary copy of the Times from Ocado, an offer of free delivery from Asda. You name it. Well actually it's just those two. But I don't want to commit myself to any one single supermarket delivery service. I'm a free spirit, I can't be tied down. It's like that quote from the Armitage Shanks Shawshank Redemption, when Andy Dufresne had finally escaped and Red's thinking about how much he misses him. What was it again? Oh yes:
Andy Dufresne, who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side. Andy Dufresne, headed for the Pacific. Sometimes it makes me sad, though, Andy being gone. I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright and when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice, but still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone.
Well replace the name Andy Dufresne with wardytron, and that's me exactly, although maybe not the first bit. Well anyway the Ocado man came on Tuesday with his free Times. He suggested ordering my next delivery for a Saturday, because you get all the extra sections. He's clearly got a thing for me, I can tell. But we'll see how Leahy responds to my letter. Perhaps he'll offer me flowers, or even a voucher. 20 quid and I'm anyone's.
so that you don't have to read it. I've blacked out my address, as this is a public post, although I've left in the bit that says "Road" - I don't mind people knowing I live on a road, although please don't abuse that information, or I may be forced to move to an avenue or crescent. You'll notice that Leahy hasn't bothered replying personally - no, he's roped in some minion called Lynda Thompson. Come on Leahy, I want to talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey. Well anyway Lynda's made the schoolboy error of calling me "Mr wardytron," rather than just wardytron. You wouldn't called Sting "Mr Sting," would you. Or Skeletor "Mr Skeletor." Well I know what Leahy's up to - basically he's stalling for time, isn't he. He could easily return that quid, but no, he's got it in the bank earning interest. Right now he's making a very tidy £0.00137 each day. Oh I know it doesn't sound a lot, but if he leaves it 2 weeks it's a whopping £0.01918. Say he's got a thousand of these scams going on at any one time, he's making over 19 quid a fortnight. No wonder their profits are so high.
Well not any more, Leahy. Over the past few weeks I've been getting emails from other supermarkets, begging me to try their delivery service. Ocado, Asda, you name it. Well actually it's just those two. I don't know why they've all suddenly started fighting for my attention, but they're all clearly smitten. Of course, there's part of me that's enjoying all this. You can't deny that it's flattering to have three supermarket grocery delivery services battling it out over you. Oh I know Mumward brought us up to be chaste and not to go around flaunting our wares, but perhaps it's this very innocence of mine they find so beguiling. I mean, you can't deny I have a certain coquettish je ne sais quoi. But then, who can explain the mysteries of human attraction? Who knows what first attracted Marc Antony to Cleopatra? What was it about Juliet that so captivated Romeo? Why was it that Dollond knew he could never love anyone but Aitchison? And so on.
They've started offering me ever more grandiose and extravagant gifts, as though I was some kind of floozy whose affection was something that could be bought. A complimentary copy of the Times from Ocado, an offer of free delivery from Asda. You name it. Well actually it's just those two. But I don't want to commit myself to any one single supermarket delivery service. I'm a free spirit, I can't be tied down. It's like that quote from the Armitage Shanks Shawshank Redemption, when Andy Dufresne had finally escaped and Red's thinking about how much he misses him. What was it again? Oh yes:
Andy Dufresne, who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side. Andy Dufresne, headed for the Pacific. Sometimes it makes me sad, though, Andy being gone. I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright and when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice, but still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone.
Well replace the name Andy Dufresne with wardytron, and that's me exactly, although maybe not the first bit. Well anyway the Ocado man came on Tuesday with his free Times. He suggested ordering my next delivery for a Saturday, because you get all the extra sections. He's clearly got a thing for me, I can tell. But we'll see how Leahy responds to my letter. Perhaps he'll offer me flowers, or even a voucher. 20 quid and I'm anyone's.