SANDI TOKSVIG

Arriving at your front door any day now: absolutely anything your heart desires. But, Sandi wonders, has it all gone too far?

These days, you hardly have to leave home if you want something. Almost anything can be delivered, and the new thing is to have subscription deliveries, which can include everything from flowers to... well, personal-hygiene items.

When I got my first home, I thought it was marvellously grown-up just to have the milk delivered. I remember the sense of pride when I ordered a pint to be placed in a glass bottle on the doorstep each morning from the local dairy. I’d envisaged some cheerful fellow in a peaked cap, whistling as he brought goodness to my door; I imagined us smiling at each other, smug in the knowledge of our healthy choice.

Our milkman, however, was the single most depressed human being I’ve ever met. His whole being radiated misery. Mostly, he couldn’t manage to get out of bed in time to get the milk there for breakfast. He would deliver long after we’d gone to work, so in Summer we returned to something horribly curdled, while in Winter the birds had usually pecked the top off and taken the cream. I tried to mention it once and he began to cry, so for about a year I paid to have milk delivered that was mostly undrinkable. In the end, we moved.

I told a friend that story the other day and she shook her head at me. ‘Oh, it’s all changed. You need to keep up. Why, I have flowers delivered every Monday and a cheese toastie on a Thursday.’

‘A cheese toastie?’ I replied, incredulous. Clearly I don’t keep up. Apparently, you can have one delivered to your door weekly. I’m not sure why they’ve decided Thursday is the optimum cheese-sandwich day. I can’t say I ever wake up that close to the weekend and immediately think about melting Cheddar. Perhaps that’s the point. They are saving me the bother. The whole affair arrives in a cardboard box, which they’re thrilled to tell you fits through the letter box, thus ‘saving you trips to the Post Office’. This is a good thing – if my cheese was left in the care of Royal Mail, it would be something quite blue-veined by the time I remembered to collect it.

Anyway, the box is laid out as if Ikea had a hand in its creation. It’s a sarnie kit that only lacks an Allen key. There is a bread compartment, one for cheese, a small butter section and then a couple of add-ons, including pickle, swimming in little cardboard pools of their own. You have to ‘construct’ the wretched thing, put it in a bag and then place it in the toaster.

All this convenience costs £5.12. I don’t know what the 12p is for. Possibly it pays for the ‘collectable Toast Trumps card’ that you also get. When I was a child, ‘trumps’ were how we referred to unfortunate explosions of wind. Apparently they send you a different sandwich each week. As I only like cheese on toast when it consists of, well, cheese and toast, it is possible they may struggle to surprise me.

The Americans, of course, are even further ahead with all this bespoke front-door foodery. I was in San Francisco recently and there is a company there that will deliver a ‘ground-beef burger, topped with melted Cheddar and Jack and served between a house-made glazed donut bun’. Whether it comes with its own defibrillator, they don’t say. I’m not sure ordering food online is for me, anyway. Last Valentine’s Day I was away working and wanted to surprise my loved one. Someone told me about a Victoria sponge company that would deliver a bespoke cake. What fun! I spent a happy hour on the website selecting the design and ordered it well in advance. The cake arrived on 15 February with a note saying they hoped the delay hadn’t spoilt my enjoyment. I don’t know if they do divorce cakes. I imagine it’s the same as a Valentine’s one but cut in half.

This morning, I looked in my fridge. There was cheese, butter and bread. Why, it was just like a kit! I could have a toastie! But then I realised it wasn’t Thursday, so I’ll have to wait.

Americans are even further ahead with frontdoor foodery