VAGUE AND SOMEHOW SPECIFIC

The radiator men didn't show up. I sat there for ages, waiting, wondering whether I could risk going outside into the garden to warm up. There would always be the chance that I would miss the doorbell.

I don't understand delivery windows. The other day, my Mum told me that she was expecting the tumble-dryer repair man to arrive anywhere between 7:41am and 1:41pm. It was weirdly specific and yet, impossibly vague. Presumably that particular window was calculated by a computer algorithm - for which vagueness and precision are perfectly coexistent parameters.

It's a bit like announcing that you've discovered that the dinosaurs died out on a Thursday.

In the end I watched my sister's copy of Ocean's Eleven, packed up the blankets, washed up the mug and the teapot and headed home, cold, tired and hungry. I'd been there for six and a half hours and I was a bit fed up. I flicked on the radio and whacked up the heating in the car.

'Hi. I stayed until 3.25 but no delivery,' I texted, 'Sorry I can't stay any longer, hope it works out OK.'

No reply. The radiators were supposed to arrive before 1:30. I'm pretty sure I did more than my duty. They wouldn't have been that late surely? Plus I was going a bit crazy.

I wonder what my manager would say if I told him I'd definitely arrive at work between 8:17 and 10:17. Would he expect me at 8:17? Would he be OK if I rolled in at quarter past ten, cheerily waving good morning to everyone as I slumped down at my desk. I guess not. How do these companies get away with such a vague service? How many hours are wasted each week by people staying in, working from home, twiddling their thumbs between the specified hours, while a carpet fitter munches crisps in a Ford Transit, or a plumber is frantically bashing his sat nav with a 3/4 inch spanner? These systems could be so much better.

There was a trail of red lights glimmering up ahead as I approached the signs for Newbury. The motorway was closed and every car, van, bike and horse box was being directed along the A4, my only other route home. I knew then that I'd be stuck in that car for the next hour and a half, crawling home with everyone else.

As I sat there in the traffic, I thought about texting my Mum to let her know that I would be home late. I didn't. I think that might still be illegal, even in a traffic jam. Plus, I quickly realised that I couldn't be any more specific, or any less vague, about what time I'd get home. That made me laugh. Life is unpredictable sometimes.