We had the same Sainsbury’s driver this week as we had last week. A man who wears shorts in November. I’m not sure I need to say more.

Seven days have passed since I was inundated with substitute curries. Seven whole days. Whatever seven times twenty-four is hours. Sixty times that in minutes. You get the idea.

He remembered my order and substitution from last week. Not just as a casual one meal and I got for. He remembered flavours.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I remember people at work – when they’ve done rooms with us before for example. But I spend over an hour with these people. He spent mere minutes with me. And he knew everything.

Sainsbury’s said they’d pass on my feedback from last week, that maybe the substitutions were going a bit bat-shit crazy. And that no-one would know it was us. But if he’s been chuckling his way around the depot telling everyone about four tikkas for one jalfrezi then it’s only a matter of time before someone stamps on our eggs.

I don’t want them to stamp on my eggs.

I think I’m going to subtly adjust the delivery time for next week. Make it later, or even a different day, so Shorts Magee can’t gather anymore dirt on us.

And I’m definitely not ordering eggs!