2. DOG ENDS

Special Delivery

‘I didn’t care about the little stones on the pavement penetrating me bare soles,’ Terry Jackson-Brown said. ‘I just ran like the clappers. I knew me distraction ploy wouldn’t buy me too much time so had to use me head start wisely. I was also aware that me naked presence in the street was also attracting interest so killing several birds with the same stone I dived into the back of a Royal Mail delivery van that had conveniently left its rear doors open as the driver made a drop. I felt meself to be through running and embarrassment as red as the vehicle’s livery.’

Terry was relieved when he heard the doors slam shut and the engine start and take him further away from the bladed teeth of the gathering hounds. He soon realised that he couldn’t continually hide under a bunch of parcels as with each delivery there’d be fewer items to conceal himself.

‘Feeling I was on a roll, I trusted to me instincts again and found the biggest parcel, emptied it and got inside the packaging doing me best to wrap it up from inside rather than from outside. This was a lot easier said than done as the movement of the van as it made turns and stops knocked me off balance a fair few times.’

The intrepid fugitive had swapped places with an indoor fitness bike. Over the next few drops Jackson-Brown rehearsed in his mind what he should say to the startled recipient upon his further disrobement upon being delivered to their home. He considered it wise to say as little as possible. He was holding his life together as precariously as he was keeping his packaging in place. He would simply explain that he was going upstairs, unless it was a bungalow, but he would wisely refrain from telling them it was to steal some clothes to make further good his escape.

‘We reached the port of call and I braced meself to remain perfectly still. The postman opted to put me on a set of wheels to assist the process. I was pushed up a bumpy path that shook me to me very bones. Then we stopped and I heard a doorbell ring. Pleasantries were exchanged with Mrs Porter-Sneath and I was able to gather that the delivery was a surprise present from her daughter, a thoughtful gift to keep her active and occupied now that she was retired.’

With the signature of the recipient obtained, the parcel was carried into the hall and further pleasantries exchanged before the delivery man departed. Mrs Porter-Sneath then tore into the package without further ado.

‘The shock on that poor woman’s face when I emerged naked was frightening. I was shamed into mumbling something about my intentions and then simply dashed upstairs. In a bedroom I found what must’ve been her absent husband’s clothes. I wish he had been on an exercise bike as they were about four sizes too big for me. But beggars can’t be choosers and although I looked like the poor victim of a supercrash diet, it would do. I was tempted to do a runner there and then, but there’s a decent side to Terry Jackson-Brown and now I was clothed I felt compelled to return to the shocked lady and offer an explanation.’

Unfortunately, his good intentions were thwarted as he found Mrs Porter-Sneath spark out on the floor.

‘In her hand she held the instructions that had remained in the package along with a sachet after I had removed the bike. It read: You will find this lubricating oil of benefit once you have erected the product. I left the poor woman at that point and headed for the door.’

Just as he was about to leave Terry was stopped in his tracks by the sight of some brown parcel paper and tape.

‘I scooped them up. It occurred to me like a revelation from above, whether it was from the Almighty or the Post Master General, that I could use the Royal Mail parcel delivery service to remain on the run. I would conceal meself in parcels and be posted to all parts of the country, not having a clue where I was heading. As if I had no idea where I was heading then neither would me pursuers. Plus, and this was the clincher, dogs are traditionally discouraged from interfering with the delivery of His Majesty’s Mail.’