I was awoken this morning by an excited fiancée. Claire was shouting up the stairs, to tell me that there was a bottle of milk on our doorstep. I found this rather strange, as we don’t have a milkman. We buy our milk from Tesco. I don’t like bowing to billionaire companies. In an ideal world, I would have a cow in the garden, which I would milk myself. Tesco is so convenient though – and cheap. Plus I don’t have to touch a cow’s udders.

In my dazed, half-asleep state, I shouted back, telling Claire to leave it there. Obviously the milkman had gone mad and delivered the pint to the wrong house, and I for one wasn’t going to pay for it, when we had about a gallon of the stuff in the fridge! Claire told me that there was a note with the milk, telling us that it was free. We quickly took it off the doorstep and placed it in the fridge, before it was stolen by a local cat.

So why the free milk? Maybe it’s poison! Apparently it’s being delivered to all my neighbours. It could be a trick, with a burglar monitoring which houses don’t bring their bottles in, therefore identifying those houses which are unoccupied – the perfect trick! I’m too suspicious, I know. I should have faith in my fellow human beings, and accept the milk as a gift… well, a sample off an entrepreneur of a milkman, hoping to drum up new customers.

As I don’t intend to take the milkman up on his business, I’ll take it as milk in lieu from the late Margaret Thatcher. I started school in the mid-late eighties, when she apparently banned milk for school kids. Given I was a little boy at the time of her reign of terror, I assume I was affected by this milk withdrawal. This milk is payback for what I should have been drinking when I was five years old.