I have found myself having to ask both these questions this week and they were not questions that I thought I would ever have to ask. I have always treated meatballs with the same caution as hot dog sausages, highly coloured yoghurts and chocolate flavoured coatings, but it turns out that it is not the eating of them that can be the biggest problem for the average year three student. I was peacefully, if a little speedily, finishing my lunch on Thursday when I spotted a tearful sight heading in my direction. That sight was a year three girl, fortunately not Trixie, walking over to her friend while wearing her lunch all down her white, polo shirt uniform. The lunch in question was meatballs, tomato sauce and spaghetti. The closer she got to her friend the more lesser friends and staff moved away from this meatball on legs. Looking around me it quickly became clear that it was down to yours truly to take control of the situation. Looking shocked and upset she was in that pre-collapse hiatus that usually happens just before total meltdown for all seen year olds, usually when the problem they face is insurmountable. Wearing meatballs, tomato sauce and spaghetti definitely fell in to that category. Gathering up her friend for moral support I whisked her off to the place that usually cures all ills and spills, the primary office. With alarming speed this rather unusual party of three was passed onto to the school nurse faster than the girl spilled the plate of food in the first place. While the nurse did her comforting best, sorting out fresh clothes and the like (dealing with red stuff that wasn’t blood must have been pleasant change for her I thought) I returned to the cafeteria and spoke with the main man who agreed to refill her plate when she returned. In a short time disaster had turned in to anecdote. The year three in question should be easy to spot in days to come though, being the girl with the tomato sauce stain all down the front of her uniform. Never mind she can claim it is a Chinese New Year special uniform.
Maybe she needed some flowers to cheer her up? Maybe I needed some flowers to thank me for my quick thinking? Maybe the others who melted away from her swifter than you could say meatballs needed flowers thrown at them? Anyway I know someone who has a few to spare, thanks to an ordering mix-up. It is is my Mum’s birthday this weekend and knowing that mothers like flowers I took to the internet on Thursday evening to arrange just the right thing to send her way. I went through the careful selection and thorough selection process that all men who know nothing about flowers do: “Yes those are flowers and have colour;” before placing the order. All was going well. I entered my bankcard number, I even waited for and typed in the “one-time permission code” to approve payment. Click. “We are sorry, we cannot proceed with your order at this point,” read the next screen, while my phone buzzed to say that successful payment had been made. Sorry, my arse, thought I. It was getting late and Thursday had been a hassling day, with only one of the hassles being spaghetti related. I tracked down a customer care number and phoned it whereby I spoke to a cheerful chap called Dominic. Dominic did some checking and found that no order had been placed He offered to monitor the situation for me and put the order through if nothing happened automatically, promising to email whatever. Great I thought and went to bed, not really sure what might or might to happen next.
By first thing on Friday morning no emails from Dominic had arrived. I therefore made a decision to change my flower provider of choice and so, when I got to work, after checking my emails one more time, I ordered flowers, this time paid for them successfully and got on with the business of the day. Marvellous.
I received a very nice text message from my Mum late on Friday, KL time, to say that a bouquet of blooms and just arrived. That was incredibly fast service I thought, seeing as I had only ordered them 11 hours earlier. What company sent them, I enquired? Mum carefully named the first retailer. Drat and blast. That meant very soon afterwards she would be receiving another pile of blooms from another company, wishing her a happy birthday for the second time.
If anyone suddenly needs piles of flowers in the Norwich area then just say the word. My Mum has a few to spare.