A Seasonal Story ...

Now here’s an encouraging tale.

A couple of weeks ago, drinking beer while Jane was out, I decided to revisit an on-line auction site and search for ‘English concertina’.
This came up, and aroused my interest.

The seller’s information demonstrated that he clearly had significant knowledge of concertinas, but I was a little concerned that he indicated ‘no returns accepted’. We exchanged messages about this policy and I was reassured that if we mutually agreed that the item was not 'as described', then a full refund would be forthcoming.
He also recommended another couple of more expensive instruments that he had in stock.

The end-time for the auction was an hour away, and, so far, he had no bidders.
I went and poured a beer.
I studied the pictures again.
I re-read and remained impressed by the extensive description.
I had another beer.
With five minutes to go before the auction ended I entered a bid at the reserve price, but poured another beer before hitting ‘submit’.

Within seconds I received an email: “Congratulations, you’ve won!”
“Whoops!” I thought, “How do I explain this to Jane?!”
I had another beer and went to bed.

The following day the vendor and I exchanged courteous phone calls and emails regarding payment, dispatch and delivery.
“Yes, Tuesday next week will be fine,” said I, mistakenly believing that Jane would be out.

Then came the second phase of UK’s big freeze in the current winter.
All transport was disrupted.

We spoke again.
If the couriers were unable to move the parcel containing a valuable antique then it was likely to remain in a freezing warehouse (minus 14deg.C) until they resumed service after the New Year.
‘C’, who by now had become a friend, kindly offered to retrieve the package from his local depot, BUT it was 4.45pm!
“Let it be,” I said. “If it suffers irredeemably from hypothermia, I will regard that as ‘damage in transit’, and you can claim on your insurance!”

I remained at home all day on Tuesday.
Morning came and went.
The postman managed to deliver the customary vast quantity of unsolicited rubbish, but my organic veggie-box failed to materialise.
Neighbours dropped in greeting cards.
I was slightly cheered thereby.
In the afternoon the doorbell rang.
I excitedly opened the front door ...
and invited a couple of doorstep evangelists in for tea.
They looked very cold!
I explained my anxious state as I poured Earl Grey with lemon slices.
They were most comforting, but my neo-Darwinian philosophy excluded me from salvation.
They left.
I wept into my beer.

I settled down in my state of dejection in front of my warming log fire.
I drank more beer.

Then, oh joy!
The doorbell positively chimed.
I stumbled to open the door.
There stood a jolly, ruddy-faced gentleman sporting a long white beard, and clad in a warm red coat and hat, both of which were trimmed with white fur.
He confirmed that my name corresponded with that on the large parcel he bore.
I plied him with a mince pie and a drop of whisky.
“Ho, ho, ho,” he exclaimed with an approving ascending vocal inflexion.
“Hic …!” I responded.

I peered beyond his portly frame into the road.
There was parked an illuminated snow-mobile tethered to six manificent ungulates, the lead of which sported a magnificent red nose.

“Come back, doorstep evangelists!” I cried.
“I AM A BELIEVER!”

There are several morals to this tale:

• Santa Claus does exist.
• Doorstep evangelists are nice people.
• Never look at eBay while imbibing alcohol!