Deliver me

It's true what they say about moving being an incredibly stressful experience. This may strike you as a slightly odd observation from someone who has spent the last six months turning not moving in into a higher art form, but I'm talking of moving in the broader logistical sense and there have been plenty of items to move along the way. I long ago lost track of the number of boxes I've had delivered to my flat. I should probably have kept some sort of track but I'm certain it would only have depressed. And for virtually every delivery there's been some sort of problem along the way.

But before go into that I want to rant about delivery companies. Nay, I demand my right to rant in fact! Surely there to be some alternative to providing your customers with 12 hour delivery windows for goods (yes, I'm looking at you MFI)? Is a two hour window too much to ask for? I realise that trying to offer such a service would be logistical nightmare, but there must surely be a demand. From me if no-one else. If anyone in charge of such things is reading I promise you it's in your best interests to offer such service. The swell of goodwill such a move would generate would guarantee the eternal loyalty of your customers and your profits will soar as people order goods they don't even need purely for the pleasure of watching them turn up on time. Honest.

Anyway, here's my top list of things that have gone wrong:

• My fridge was delivered to the wrong address - my mum's house where I'm currently staying rather than my flat.
• My kitchen sink wasn't delivered at all. It turned out that the company I'd ordered it from didn't have any stock of the sink, wouldn't be getting any more in and somehow neglected to inform me of this as I was sitting around waiting for it to arrive
• My washing machine was damaged in transit and had to be replaced. It's replacement arrived a day late.
• I was told my flooring would arrive at 7am one morning. I duly spent the night in my flat on a bitterly cold night without any central heating so that I could be there on time. The delivery man finally turned up at 11. Oh, that might not sound so bad, but then I should probably mention that that was 11pm. On the following day!
• On the day my kitchen was due to be delivered I called up to ensure it was on schedule. "Oh yes," I was told, "everything's on time. You can expect your cupboard in a couple of hours." "Um, cupboard?" I responded, "What about the rest of my kitchen." I knew then and there it was going to be another one of those days
• My oven was delivered to the wrong address. This was the most fun to sort by far. After waiting a hour or two longer than I was supposed to for my oven to turn up, I finally called the delivery company and asked what had happened. I was immediately passed over their Scottish branch who kindly informed me that they had no idea what I was talking about. They'd never heard of me, had no record of my address and ever so politely suggested that there was an error on my part and that I stop wasting their time. I called the company from whence I'd ordered the oven, and they intervened with the delivery company and called me back to politely inform me that the oven had been delivered and that I should be very happy with it. Naturally, being rather ovenless at that particular point in time I had a few choice words to say about that. I asked them to what address they'd actually sent the oven. It turned out to be an address in Derbyshire. Derbyshire! I called the delivery company up to try to explain what had happened. Unfortunately in the world these people seem to inhabit nothing ever goes wrong and since nothing ever goes wrong there's obviously no need to ever correct anything. No, it doesn't seem likely to me either, but it's the only thing I can think of to explain their behaviour. The asked me what address the oven was supposed to have been delivered to. I made the obvious mistake of telling them. For my honesty I was rewarded with the following dreaded words: "Ah, I'll just transfer you to our Scottish Branch." "Nooooo!!!!" I cried too late, as I was greeted with a horribly familiar Scottish lilt who subsequently told me they'd never heard of me.... and it actually managed to get worse from there. The various people I spoke to told me that company would only change the delivery address if I could send written confirmation including the original address. "But it's the wrong address and I don't have it!" What's more I spoke to someone who claimed they weren't allowed to give out that information. Joseph Heller would have been proud. I managed to get it sorted out after spending more than three hours on the phone that morning, but I swear that I now have mortal fear of ever being transferred to a Scottish Branch again.
• Two different delivery men on two different occasions told me that my flat was haunted and that they wouldn't live in it if they were paid to. I tried to explain that by this point I was the only entity haunting it, but they ran away before I could finish
• Regardless of what instructions I gave the delivery men, every single one of them complained that that they'd been unable to find my flat. Aside from the fact that it was rather a nuisance I was secretly pleased. I like the idea that I live in place that no-one can find.