Derek James looks back at the days of waiting for the ‘Corona’ man
There’s talk of these drones making deliveries, hovering over the back garden before dropping a parcel on the lawn.
How ridiculous. It could never happen ... or could it? I don’t know any more.
And, while I can’t be doing with all this buying online business, I have to admit it can work and that I, with a wife who knows her way around the keyboard, am a lucky man.
For example, because I tend to print off too many things when I am working the ink keeps running out on our printer. And that’s another thing. Why is printer ink so expensive? It is a ridiculous price. A real rip-off.
Anyway, it’s difficult to get the type of ink we need for one reason or another, and I have spent hours wandering round shops looking for it. Then my wife had a brainwave, ordered some online at a much cheaper price, and within a couple of days a man knocked on our door with a parcel. The ink had arrived. So it did work after all.
Since then we have had all manner of things delivered to our house – mostly thanks to that company named after a certain river. And now we are on nodding terms with the chap who turns up with the parcels, large and small. He certainly works hard.
While I have never attempted to order anything myself, I do enjoy ripping the parcels apart – and then stamping on the big ones. It’s a boy thing.
Talking of being a boy ... the highlight of my week growing up in Diss during the 1950s and early 60s was the arrival of the Corona man on a Saturday morning. I loved the fizzy drink with such exotic flavours.
Often my friend and I would drink the dandelion and burdock and then pretend to be drunk. During the week the milk came to our door (gold top), along with the papers and the bread and the postman.
On Wednesday I would hand over my mum’s shopping list at Bales the grocers, a shop which had such a lovely smell about it, and the goods would be delivered on a Friday.
And then in the summer, the best of all. Sort of. Bumshies’ ice-cream van would stop outside our house. Bootiful Bumshies of Diss – surely the best ice-cream ever produced anywhere in the world. Well, that’s what I thought anyway.
Just imagine this. You are sitting in the garden on a warm summer day. A drone hovers above your head ... and drops a Bumshies’ ice cream into your hand.
That really would be 21st century bliss.
Lyng coalman Philip Brigham loading up sacks ready for delivery in 1992.
A delivery of milk in Kesgrave, near Ipswich, in 1966.
Delivering the morning paper by bicycle is Mrs C Meadows. The Eastern Daily Press is welcomed by Mrs A Frost at Euston, near Thetford, in this lovely picture from our archives dated September, 1959.
The post gets through, despite a blocked road near North Wootton church, in west Norfolk, in January, 1976.
Newspaper deliveries were part of daily life for many households - and here we see the Eastern Daily Press and Norwich Evening News papers being dropped off at a newsagents for delivery.
Joan Driver preparing a batch of Bumshies’ ice-cream ready to go out on the vans in 1989.