Will’s World: Steve missed my farm, but he hit my last nerve

I’ve just spent a few days away with my best mates from the old Harper Adams days.

We decided to end the summer with a 15-mile walk along a section of the south-west coastal path in Dorset, intrepid adventurers that we are, and loved every second of it.

Well, perhaps not the almost vertical ascent that we undertook somewhere between Lulworth Cove and Kimmeridge Bay, but the rest of it was glorious.

My knees didn’t thank me the next morning, but they would’ve been much worse without our post-hike recovery swim in the sea. 

See also: Slick Tabula telematics simplifies multi-brand fleet management

It’s funny how friendships change through the years. In our hedonistic younger days, it was all alcohol, late nights and mischief.

Now it’s more of a mental health support group that shares everyday concerns and worries while laughing at the absurdities of middle-aged existence.

Anyway, I’m eternally grateful to have friends like this in my life.

Buffering since 1998

One of the subjects that repeatedly came up was how often we all encounter people who don’t do their job properly, and the stress that can cause.

None of us are perfect, but the uncaring sense of “it’s not my problem” seems to be endemic in modern society, let alone the challenges of trying to speak to an actual human on the phone.

I have a theory that the reason we never meet time travellers is because they’re all in the 1990s enjoying the days before smartphones, when no one was constantly trying to steal your personal data so they can sell you stuff you don’t need.

They’re probably enjoying paying £1.80 for a pint, hiring videos from Blockbuster, and driving around in brand-new Peugeot 306 GTIs too, the lucky buggers.

This evening, I was expecting a delivery from a major home improvement and DIY retailer.

I won’t say what they’re called, but let’s call them “Dickes”.

I didn’t have time to go to their store in town, but I needed a few things in a hurry so ordered online and paid extra for next-day delivery.

Do I want to create an account, the loveable scamps at Dickes asked me on checkout, to which I answered no, and instead paid as a guest. Job done, I foolishly thought.

Computer says no

The next morning, I received a text to say that my order was due to arrive between 4.14pm and 6.14pm and, if I wanted, I could track it on their very special super-duper with bells and whistles app. No thanks, thought I, and went on with my day.

I planned my evening, got all my tools ready, and waited for the items to arrive.

At 5.15pm, an email arrived to say the driver was on his way.

Then a whole three minutes later, a follow-up email informed me that said driver was unable to find my address and was therefore returning to the depot and I’d need to rearrange delivery. Thanks a lot, Steve.

Now sympathising more than ever with Michael Douglas’s character in the film Falling Down – in which a desperate and mentally unstable man finally snaps after being beaten down by the system one too many times – I wearily clicked the link.

Could I call someone? Don’t be silly, they’d all gone home.

Could I email them? Don’t talk daft, I’d have to fill in a form and someone would get back to me within 48 hours.

Do I want to talk to the chatbot? I’d rather run a hot iron over my fingers, thanks.

Next time I’m paying with cash, in person. For the love of Liam Gallagher, take me back to the 1990s.