It all began so well. I couldn’t find the sandal size I needed in the shops, so I returned home and ordered a pair online from a shop six miles away. I was about to tick the box to collect them instore when I noticed that delivery cost the same price. Why not? My holiday is still more than a month away. What could go wrong, I foolishly wondered.
So far, so good. The sandals arrived promptly at the courier’s distribution hub in Dublin, and I was confidently told I’d have them within a day or two.
But the sandals had a different idea and began an epic journey of their own around the country. Serves me right for choosing footwear especially suited to travelling long distances.
They were in the midlands, according to the tracking information. Then they were in the van. Then they were on their way back to the midlands because the delivery attempt failed, even though I was sitting in the house working away on the laptop – or possibly cleaning the keyboard in a bid to avoid the work.
Conflict of many colours – Frank McNally on a finely illustrated atlas of the Civil War
Lunar quest – Frank McNally on moon missions, misinformed quiz questions, and mountweazels
The Dromcollogher cinema fire disaster – Frank McNally on a fateful day in 1926
The spirit of 1965 – Kevin Rafter on Ireland’s first television election
——―—Energised by their non-appearance at my house, the sandals took off again to continue their odyssey around the country. And for the next three weeks, the tracking information taunted me relentlessly. The sandals were staged for next day delivery. They were on the way! This statement was always accompanied by an exclamation mark, even though a barrage of question marks would have been more appropriate. Then they were returning to the depot because the delivery attempt had failed. Again. And again, I was sitting in the house working away at the laptop, or perhaps scouring the sink in an effort to avoid the work.
The sandals had allegedly arrived at our house and departed again so many times that I considered standing out on the road and interrogating every van that passed. Eventually the courier company threw their hands in the air and declared that the parcel was lost. I should get a refund from the shop.
But no sooner had I started this process than, lo, the sandals rose from the mists of the midlands. Refreshed by their rest, they began another merry dance across the country. I half expected a postcard from them to tell me how nice Portarlington was, as they seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time there.
The holiday was a week away and the sandals were still trotting around Ireland with no sense of urgency whatsoever. I wondered if I was going to suffer the fate of the official in Paris who wrote a letter in February 1790 and intended to send it to Seix, a village in the south of France. A misplaced vowel sent it to the mayor’s office in Saïx, about two and a half hours north of Seix. When no one recognised the address, the letter was shoved into a drawer and promptly forgotten about. In fairness, there were a fair few things going on in France at the time, including the minor matter of the French Revolution.
The letter languished in a drawer as Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were executed, Napoleon came and went, and a couple of world wars began and ended.
More than two centuries after it arrived in Saïx, an intern discovered the letter, in 1999. According to a report in Le Parisien, the wax seal was broken, but the calligraphy was superb. The letter was rejecting Seix’s wish to become capital of the municipality.
You would think the letter would have been dispatched with great urgency upon being discovered but it appears that the wheels of French bureaucracy turn very slowly indeed. Another decade passed and finally, in 2010 a motion was passed to deliver the letter. Taking no chances, a delegation travelled from Saïx with a horse-drawn carriage to hand deliver the letter amid great fanfare. In true French style, it was followed by an aperitif and a banquet, Le Parisien reported.
With no sign of a horse drawn carriage clip clopping up the road with my parcel, I engaged in a robust exchange of emails which seemed to be successful. The tracking information declared: Your parcel is on the way! and this time the celebratory exclamation mark felt genuine. I got caught up in the excitement and foolishly believed the promise.
Reader, you are more savvy than I am and will have already seen where this is going. The parcel was not on the way.
Today I gave in and bought another pair of walking sandals. Which of course means that they will arrive tomorrow. At least that’s what the tracking information says.