The Milkman ...

... as previously noted, the boyfriend of my former friend, and colleague, Jem.

I rang Jem to explain what had happened and to tell her boyfriend that I wanted this sorting out.

That evening, I had a nice relaxing bath. I'd just got out and was wrapped up in my big fluffy white bathrobe when there was a knock at the door.

I cautiously open the door, with the chain across, and realise that it's the milkman. I take the chain off and he asks if he can come in, I reply "No". He tells me he wants to ask me about what had happened.

He's roaring drunk and sits down on my front doorstep. He has a pint in one hand, and a fag in the other. I'm sat at the foot of my stairs, still in the bathrobe.

I tell him what happened and he apologises for his son. It's not his place to apologise and I tell him so. I tell him I want an apology from his son. I tell him he's lucky I've not rung the Police. I tell him he needs to go now and he asks me to ring a taxi for him. I can't get a taxi for another hour, so am forced to ring Jem to ask her to come and collect him. Fortunately, for a change, she isn't drunk. Well, actually, she might be, I don't know, it wouldn't be the first time she's driven whilst drunk - and so she comes to collect him.

He can barely stand and this means Jem has to walk to my front door to help him up. "I don't know," she says in a very patronising tone, "this is the last thing Para needs, a drunken man on her doorstep."

10 months later, I'm still awaiting an apology from the milkman's son. I bump into him now and again in the village and it makes me feel uncomfortable - but we don't speak. But then again, we didn't prior to the incident, so why should we now?

Para xx