Having personfully carted 64 boxes of books into the house on Monday, it was all systems go for the tonne of chalk chippings, due to arrive on Tuesday. Tuesday dawns. The email arrives, ‘Your order is out for delivery and will arrive today’. By 6pm I am wondering what ‘today’ means and if I can go to bed, having been up very early in case they arrived at 7am. The office is allegedly open until 8pm. I try telephoning, ‘we are unable to advise on delivery times over the phone, please email’. I email. Zero response and zero chippings.

The next day I try ringing again, this time pressing #1 for sales. That’ll get them to answer, thinks I; a potential customer. Nope, more automated voices exhorting me to email. I spot a tab on the website marked ‘track and trace’. I’d dismissed this as some kind of COVID response. After all if you could track your delivery it would have said on the ‘your delivery is on its way’ email. Wouldn’t it? Well, it turns out no it wouldn’t. I duly track and trace. ‘We attempted delivery at 16.32 yesterday.’ You so didn’t, at least not to my house. I do know I am not the easiest property to find. Not having a road doesn’t help (there really isn’t a road, not just no road name). There had been a helpful box on the online order form regarding delivery instructions. I had written a three volume novel in this box, beginning, ‘on no account use sat-nav’ (that way madness lies) and ending with, ‘ring this number if lost.’ Had one of my neighbours been left with a dumpy bag of chippings that were surplus to their requirements? There are only six houses in my postcode. I can see three of the others, no chippings. I email one of the other two. No, no chippings there or next door (the 6^th address).

Finally, an email. ‘Sorry for the delay. Your delivery will arrive today.’ By this time, it was all getting a bit deja vue. I should add that, because of the not having a road thing, these chippings would need to be put in place pretty quickly after arrival. Tuesday, the promised delivery day, was dry. Wednesday the second time around promised delivery day it was ******* with rain. 4.30pm, still raining and the chippings are deposited on a driveway that does not actually belong to me (but is where they are meant to be). I email apologies explaining that they will be moved asap. 7pm, my trusty assistant, who has been twiddling his thumbs for two days waiting to trustily assist, brightly says, ‘It’s stopped raining.’ Anyone who knows me will know that by 7pm I am not just past my best but I am practically comatose. I could think of things I wanted to do more than shovel and spread a tonne of chippings, like pulling out my finger-nails one by one maybe? With a sigh we set to and prove that two geriatrics can spread a tonne of chippings in under an hour. One of us was shovelling and wheel barrowing, the other was doing the seriously skilled levelling aka half-heartedly pushing a rake about. I am not prepared to say which was me but I don’t recall touching a spade.

We collapse. My arms feel a bit itchy. During the night most of my body from knees to neck becomes covered in a scarlet rash and boy does it itch. Small bumps appear on my flesh. What with the itching and an irritating fly in my bedroom that alights on my face every time I doze off I don’t get much sleep. The next morning. No. I don’t seem to be dead. Dr Google suggests I probably won’t be, unless it spreads to my face, in which case I might go into anaphylactic shock. Oh great and any ambulance would probably have as much difficulty finding me as the chippings lorry driver. I email my doctor’s surgery and wait for the words of wisdom. ‘Attach a photograph’ it says. It is barely daylight, my artificial light is at best dim, this could be tricky. So if anyone saw me at 6am leaning out of the window to get more light, photographing my arm, you’ll know what all that was about.

I wonder if I have any no-scratch mittens. I don’t. I start to feel a bit dizzy. I am trying to decide what on earth I could be allergic to. No new soaps or soap powder, not eaten anything odd. The only slightly unusual activity has been the chalk levelling. I refuse to believe I can be allergic to chalk. For a start, I didn’t really touch it much and my hands are one part that is relatively unaffected. Add to that, I am a veteran chalk riddler, dating from my days as a neolithic house builder. I had no problems then.

My doctor is due to contact me within 36 hours. I probably can’t cope with this for 36 hours. I can try the walk-in centre. I check to see if it is open. Paragraph one of the website, ‘Your local walk-in centre is closed due to COVID’. Paragraph two, ‘Please use the walk-in centre.’  Hmm. I opt for the chemists. This is quite brave as, apart from a few trips to the mobile post van and one visit to the tiny community shop next door but one, I’ve not been near a shop since March.

I show the pharmacy assistant my rash. She is clearly impressed, ‘that looks really bad’. She defers to the pharmacist who suggests antihistamine. I escape, drugs in hand. Progress report. A bit better today. Not better better but fewer/smaller red patches, though some new ones have appeared and they certainly itch. The anti-histamine ‘may cause drowsiness’. They aren’t wrong. I feel as if I have been drugged. Oh. That would be because……..