Twenty-six separate deliveries. Twenty-six parcels containing stuff. Clothing stuff, hygiene stuff, eating stuff. All the kit I think I will need for Kilimanjaro is here. All the parcels have arrived. Bar one. The most important one. The one containing my pants.
As a boy I loved to have the accessories. Before I had ever played a game of snooker, I had a waistcoat. I used to wear my waistcoat watching snooker on the telly. How can any serious snooker-lover possibly give a game of snooker the level of intense concentration required to influence the result whilst wearing a Mr Tickle T-shirt?
For Kilimanjaro, success will be based on my underwear. Boots? Down jacket? Sleeping bag? All bit-part players. It is the butt-part coverer which will see me through. For I have discovered merino wool boxers. They are sheer luxury. I bought a black pair at Tiso and instantly fell in love with them. Admittedly, they didn’t enhance my packet to anything like the extent enjoyed by the gentleman on the box, but they have provided comfort like I have never known.
I searched the Internet and found three grey pairs for sale at a discount. Looking at the picture, the grey pairs do not have the same packet-enhancing properties as the black, presumably explaining the reduced price.
And now I wait for the postman to deliver my secret weapon to me. My bottom armour. I do fear that such indulgence has come to the attention of the RSPCA. Why is this person so interested in these animal fur products (you also have to remember I have three merino wool vests and a pair of merino wool leggings in my packing)? As I wait for the postman I can’t help but notice the cow-print van with blacked out windows sitting across the road. It has been there for three days now with the door only opening briefly to accept deliveries of organic vegetables before daybreak each morning. If they are spying on me they clearly haven’t been observing my sleeping habits!