Dave

Dave is my flower delivery man. He is the one who regularly double parks in front of the shop when delivering my flowers to me, causing havoc to regular folk just who are just trying to get on with their stuff.

Imagine a conversation thus.

Tetchy person in car whom Dave has totally blocked in: " excuse me, are you going to be long? "

Dave: " bout a couple days, mate " . Chuckle.

He's a bit of a wag.

However, when I need stuff, this is how I ask him ( best to catch him when he's a bit preoccupied or doing something )

Me: Dave?
Him: yes, darlin'... ( did I mention he's also an Essex boy?)
Me: got any logs?
Him: logs? how many ya need?
Me: hmmm, bout twenty?
Him: what they for?
Me: do you care?
Him: not really.
( pause )
Him: when do you need 'em by?
Me: erm, yesterday?
Him: course ( rolls his eyes and shakes head ) leave it with me darlin'.

So, when things like this are left with Dave, he's a bit like the Pony Express. He always gets through. Or is it delivers? He bought himself a dirty great chainsaw ( I DIDN'T make him do it, he's obviously wanted one for a long time )

And these are the fruits of his labours.

I am a lucky girl.