The Delivery

They said it would be Wednesday morning, so I was up bright and early to prepare for the arrival of our new big shiny double doored 'Refrigerateur Americain'. We had purchased it last week for an unbelievably good price because it was 'Affaire de la Semaine' (offer of the week) at Geant, one of our big out of town supermarkets that sells pretty much everything.

So I shifted the existing fridge over to a different wall and cleaned the area in preparation. By now it was past 8am, and therefore too late to pop out for a paper or jump in the shower because that would have risked missing the delivery, which would have meant having to reorganise the whole thing on the telephone, probably with the man with the indecipherable and uncomprehensible accent. It doesn't help that my doorbell is not the loudest in the world and I have been known to miss it altogether, especially if I am listening to music.

I sat at the kitchen table in silence working on my computer, made a couple of phone calls re work, drank copious cups of coffee and jumped up to look out of the window every time I thought I heard a van pull up outside (which was quite often). The morning seemed to drag by very slowly but still no delivery and eventually the morning was over and the bells were chiming for midday - no chance of anything now until after 2pm.

Had I missed them or had they not been? I had some lunch and pondered what to do. Actually, having some lunch was just a delaying tactic before facing the inevitable telephone call to find out what was going on. I worked out what I needed to say and finally dialled the number just after two. As always, it wasn't as bad as I had anticipated - from main switchboard to electrical goods to delivery department everyone understood me and I understood them and finally a very cheery and most importantly, an understandingly slow speaking woman told me their was no problem and they were just on their way now with the fridge. Ahh - so that will be an early afternoon type of morning delivery then.

Ten minutes later the telephone rang and the accent was back. He could have been speaking Swahili or Finnish as far as I was concerned because I didn't understand one word of his thickly accented French, which is what I presume he was using. As I had just spoken to their office and knew they were coming I just said "Oui, D'accord" and he said, I think, "A bientot". We exchanged 'Au revoirs' and ten minutes after he had pulled up outside and was causing a traffic jam down the street.

He was a rather portly man with a thick greying moustache, which did nothing for the clarity of his speech. He was already sweating profusely and so far, all they had done is get it out of the van and onto the pavement using the tailgate hoist. His sidekick was a very thin pale youth with round spectacles who didn't look like he could pick up a toaster on his own, never mind move a huge double door american style fridge freezer. I had concerns. The lead guy was by now chattering and complaining and waving his arms in the air about their being nowhere to park and the traffic backed up having no patience (all were by now leaning on their horns) and the distance to the front door and the fact that I lived on the first floor. At least, that's what it looked like.

Actually I just think he was one of those men who is constantly grumbling and chatting and complaining and that's what keeps him going through the day - but he does need to calm down. He looked to me like a classic candidate for a heart attack. His sidekick never said a word - either didn't have the energy of more likely just sits in the van every day listening to the other guy unable to get a word in. But the fridge did have wheels and so only needing lifting up the stairs, which with me helping was no problem really and then it was very easily rolled into place. I'm not sure what the fuss was all about. After I had signed the delivery note and given out drinks of water everyone was all smiles and handshakes and 'un tres joli appartment' and off they went.

The big new beast changes the kitchen dynamic. The old fridge always looked a bit small in this vast space but the new one looks like it is fulfilling it's destiny. It is stood against the end wall of the kitchen, in shape and size rather like one of those early mainframe computers from a 1960's movie. In contrast the old fridge looks like it's cowering in the corner, somewhat in awe of the new arrival. At least it still has my food and drink to look after for now, but that will change in the morning when the new one is up, or rather, down to temperature and the handover will take place before the old fridge gets put to one side for a while. When the studio conversion has been done we will put it to good use for our visitors.

I am now the proud owner of five fridges of varying sizes here in France and one in London - you could say we are a bit overfridged.