Smoke Me A Kipper…

An Amazon delivery came for us today – well, for Carole – prompting me – at home, on my own – to answer the door saying, “What’s she ordered now?!?” as we have been getting a steady stream of Amazonian boxes for quite some time now.

I don’t know what it is. I assume it’s a present for someone. Maybe even for me. I don’t know. It feels heavy, though. Which is exciting. I guess. But then, bricks are heavy. And unless you’re Daily Show presenter Trevor Noah, bricks aren’t that exciting.

But anyway, he delivered the package and went away.

And then he was back.

As is often the case, once a delivery driver has found someone who is in, they become the person of choice for any undeliverable packages with a certain radius of the home. As is also often the case, we were the drop off point for a couple who live a little bit further round the street. We seem to be the two main houses – on this side of the road, at least – who partake of Amazon deliveries on a semi-regular basis.

Anyway, part of the process is that the recipient of the parcel receives an email saying that the parcel has been left with someone at a certain address. For this, the delivery guy takes your house number and your name. It’s a simple process.

“What is your name,” said my delivery guy.
“It’s Jacob,” I said.

Now then, let’s put this into perspective a little. I once got a drink in Starbucks when I worked in Leeds. They asked my name, I said “Jake” and they handed me a cup with “Jiek” written on it. And for many, many years when I worked at William Hill, a man called me Ashley every single morning and I never, ever corrected him. I even wore a badge that said “Jacob” on it. But hey, he never said anything, and neither did I.

When I said, “It’s Jacob” the delivery guy heard something entirely different. Now, this could be down to a number of things, but I’m going to say it’s a clash of accents and cultures. His Eastern European meeting my Yorkshire-whatever it is that I have.

Ace Jakob.

That’s what he heard.

That’s what he entered into his little machine. My name was Ace Jakob.

I have never been more giddy with excitement in my life. Never. Ace Jakob. Amazing. He thinks people have the first name “Ace”. Outside of Rimmer, I have never once met an Ace. I have heard people being called Ace on American TV shows and things like that. But never, ever met an Ace.

And yet he was just straight on in there.

Ace Jakob.

Our neighbours got an email saying that the parcel had been left with Ace Jakob.

It’s made my Christmas.