Next to Godliness

Just what is it with Kleeneze? Their representatives shove their catalogue through your letterbox solely so that they can instruct you to put it back out on the front doorstep again on a certain date. It is the very definition of futility. And it's really annoying. Yes I know the idea is that you're going to buy something but let's be realistic, that isn't going to happen. Nevertheless it is with a version, almost, of civic pride that I do actually remember to put it out on the correct date, as I did this Monday morning, returning home in the evening to find it duly gone. Only for a note to be stuck through the door on Tuesday demanding the catalogue back. This was troubling. I seemed to remember that the original catalogue had come from 'Mark and Wendy'. Whereas this note came from 'Jermaine and Victoria' (an improbable-sounding couple if ever I heard one). So now we were embroiled in a Kleeneze turf war. What next? A brick through the window? With a note wrapped round it asking us to throw it back two days later?

No, the next thing was another note from 'Jermaine and Victoria' suggesting that we ring them if we wanted to give the catalogue back or if - miracle of miracles - we wanted to order something. 'Otherwise, this was our last visit'. Their last visit! I felt terrible now. I felt guilty for not returning the catalogue which I didn't have. I missed them although I'd never seen them. What did they look like? Did they do everything together? Were they going to kill Mark and Wendy? Or, after this rejection, themselves?

Or perhaps there is no rivalry. Perhaps the slaves of Kleeneze are as blandly interchangeable as the members of a religious cult.

Now I will never know. But what makes me really sad is that my guilt is not severe enough to make me even consider the purchase of a pack of dusters.