SPECIAL DELIVERY!
A-List parcel handler Brian lifts lid on the stars’ secret packages
IS THERE anything more exciting than waiting in for a package? That magical, tingly sensation of knowing your freshly-ordered item is winging its way across the country towards you. The delicate flutter of your heartbeat as you hear the letterbox creak open and spot the ‘We called but you were out’ slip floating gently down onto the doormat. And the familiar sting of impotent rage as you open the front door to see the parcel courier’s van tearing off down the street, with your parcel still safely inside it. It’s like a little bit of Christmas every day. But those slips don’t just float down onto our doormats of their own accord - and those vans certainly don’t drive themselves away at high speed. No, behind it all are Britain’s hard-working delivery men and women, who spend their time zipping tirelessly between Land’s End and John O’Groats each and every day. But these oft-overlooked heroes, these workaday Santa Clauses, don’t just serve the regular Joe in the street... believe it or not, they also cater for Hollywood’s biggest stars!
Just ask BRIAN REGICIDE. Bigboned Brian has been working as a parcel distributor for the past 20 years, and during his two decades at the sharp end of the door-to-door delivery business he has found himself face-toface with some of Tinseltown’s brightest stars a surprising number of times. “I know it sounds like something I’m literally just making up off the top of my head,“chuckles the 20-stone Birmingham-born bachelor, 59. “But it’s 100% true.”
He told us: “The list of celebrity mansions I’ve driven away from at breakneck speed after posting a ‘We called but you were out’ slip through the letterbox reads like a Who’s Who of celebrity mansions.”
Now Brian has collected all his most incredible stories and iconic memories into one spell-binding new autobiography, entitled The Full Package: My Life As An A-List Parcel Handler (Legal Action Books, £3.99). And in these exclusive extracts he lifts the lid on the most special deliveries he’s ever had to make.
Professor Turned Nutty over Holy Order
ONE DELIVERY I remember very well was to a large house in Oxford. It was a routine, bread-and-butter job; a shoebox-sized parcel marked ‘Fragile’.”ragile’.” I pulled the van up outside, picked ed up the package from where it had fallen in the passenger footwell and went up the path. Nothing remarkable there, until I tell you the name on the label: PROFESSOR RICHARD DAWKINS. Now I’veNow I’ve read all the famous atheist scientist’s books and followed his career for years, and it’s always been an ambition of mine to meet him. But I couldn’t let my personal feelings as a starstruck fan get in the way of my professional responsibilities, so it was with a heavy heart that I tiptoed up to the door and carefully slipped a ‘We called but you were out’ slip through the letterbox. However, as I turned to leg it, I accidentally knocked over a milk bottle. The noise must have alerted Dawkins, because before I was half way back to the van, he appeared on the doorstep. “Excuse me, I’m actually in,” he called. “The bell must be broken or something. Is that my parcel? I’ll take it now.”
I explained to Dawkins that since I had already scanned the barcode on my thing and pressed the button, it was now on the system as being returned to the depot as ‘undelivered customer not in’, so I couldn’t give it to him now. I told him he could collect it himself from the depot in Bicester in 3 to 5 to 7 working days, or phone the depot to re-arrange the delivery for when he was in. But the famous Darwinist wasn’t having any of it. He came down the path towards me and tried to grab the package from me. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “I’m in now. Give it here.”
Nothing would have pleased me more than to have been able to hand that parcel over to Dawkins, but rules are rules. A scuffle ensued, which ended with the parcel getting dropped on the path and splitting open. I stopped in my tracks when I saw what was inside: a Nativity set, complete with angels, shepherds, three wise men and a baby Jesus. Dawkins looked at me, and I could see panic rising in his face. “P-p-please don’t tell anyone about this,” he stammered. “If this gets out I’ll be finished as a godless firebrand.”
Carefully, I picked the shattered parcel off the floor, wrapped it back up as best I could and threw it back into my van. “Don’t worry, Professor,” I said, giving him a conspiratorial wink. “Your secret’s safe with me.” And it was.
Sexy Susanna Shared my ‘Package’ with Pals
SOMETIMES, it seemed like every house I arrived at was home to some major A-List celeb or other. This one time I had to deliver a dozen or so smallish boxes to a swanky mansion on the outskirts of London.
As I approached the front door, I could hear loud music and laughter coming from inside. There were shadows moving behind the curtains, so I knew the house was full of people. Silently, I popped a fresh ‘We called but you were out’ slip through the letterbox and began making my way back to the van, getting ready to throw the undelivered parcels into the back.
However, before I got to the gate, the front door swung open and who should be standing there but ITV
Breakfast saucepot, SUSANNA REID! The small screen beauty was dressed in nothing but a skimpy chif-
fon nightgown, and she had a worried frown etched across her face.
“Excuse me,” she cooed. “I mustn’t have heard you knock. I think those packages are for me.” I explained patiently that I’d already posted the slip through her letterbox, and that she could pick her items up from the sorting office in eight to ten days, possibly twelve. However, rather than simply nodding and going back inside, the TVAMsofa lovely shot me a delicious wink and purred: “Oh, come on, Mr Delivery Man. I’m sure you can make an exception, can’t you? Just this once…” As she spoke, she hooked a perfectly manicured finger into my Hi-Viz tabard and pulled me towards the house.
Now, ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you that I’m an absolute stickler for the rulebook. I’ve never broken a package delivery regulation in my life. But those same people will also tell you that I’m as red-blooded as the next man, maybe even more so, and the sight of daytime TV’s tastiest presenter beckoning me into her home was simply too much to bear. Helpless to resist, I carried the parcels inside.
When I entered the living room, I nearly jumped out of my skin as I saw who else was in attendance: FIONA BRUCE, HOLLY WILLOUGHBY and CAROL KIRKWOOD. British telly’s sexiest MILFs were lounging on the sofas, giggling and sipping cocktails, dressed only in extremely revealing bath-robes. Willoughby explained that they all got together once a month for a lingerie party, ordering the sauciest undergarments they could find on the net - that was what was in the parcels I had been unable deliver - before trying them all on in front of each other.
“You’re not going to be a party pooper and take all our saucy scuds back to your depot, are you?” purred Bruce, arching an erotically charged eyebrow in my direction. “Come on, if you let us have those parcels, you can stay and watch us trying them all on.”
What man could resist the allure of an offer like that? I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t tempted. But I’m not a liar, and all this is true. But I have to admit that it was the closest I had ever come to breaking the delivery drivers’ code of ethics. Before my resolve weakened and I changed my mind, I carried the parcels back down the path and threw them back in the van. “As I said before,” I called. “Give it fourteen to sixteen working days and you can pick them up from the depot, if they can find them.
MY MOST recent A-List encounter happened just a few weeks back. I was in the Cotswolds to deliver three very similar-looking cylindrical packages to three ritzy mansions on the same street in Chipping Norton. As I pulled up outside the first house, I could clearly see somebody in the front room so I went in through a side gate so I wouldn’t be spotted. Then, disaster! As I sidled up to the door, I realised I’d totally run out of ‘We called but you were out’ slips.
Sometimes in this job, you have to think on your feet. In the event of a slip deficiency, it is stated in the package distribution rulebook that the delivery man or woman must locate an appropriate ‘safe place’ in which to leave the parcel(s). Thinking it should be somewhere instantly visible, but also difficult for thieves to access, I carefully hurled the three boxes up into the branches of a nearby tree, and headed back to my van. The job was a good ‘un, or so I thought.
At that precise moment, the doors of the two neighbouring mansions also swung open and out stepped former Prime Minister DAVID CAMERON and dairy-farming Blur bassist ALEX
JAMES! Both were in similar states of foul-mouthed rage, demanding to know why I had just lobbed their parcels into a tree.
I patiently explained to the car show host, ex-PM and Britpop cheesemonger that I had acted well within the terms of the courier industry code of conduct after not being able to locate my ‘We called but you were out’ slips, but they simply wouldn’t listen to reason. They called me every name under the sun, and then began shaking the tree wildly, in an attempt to dislodge their items.
Ever the professional, I decided to help them, and after a few minutes of intense oscillation, the boxes finally fell from the branches. However, the packaging was clearly of a very poor quality, as they split open at the seams as soon as they hit the pavement, to reveal... three brand new penis enlargement pumps.
I didn’t know where to look. Clarkson started muttering something under his breath about how it was “a birthday present for a mate,” while Cameron and James both mumbled: “Yeah, same here.” However, the bright beetroot-red hue of their faces suggested otherwise.
Eventually, David Cameron looked up at me, pleadingly. “Don’t tell anyone about this, I beg you,” he gulped, while the other two fidgeted nervously. “We don’t want the whole world to know about our embarrassing secret.”
The trio then made me an offer I’m sure they assumed I couldn’t refuse. Cameron promised he would pull some strings in parliament to bag me a top job in Theresa May’s Conservative cabinet, Clarkson vowed to give me a weekly slot reviewing supercars on The
Grand Tour, , and James guaranteed me a pound of homemade cheese and a Blur album.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted, except by the cheese and the Blur album. Chances like those only come once in a lifetime. But anyone who knows me will tell you that I didn’t sign up to the parcel delivery game for power or fame. I got into it for the simple joy of hearing a ‘We called but you were out’ slip flutter gently onto a doormat before sprinting back to my van and driving away at breakneck speed.
I told the three titans of politics, television and Britpop/cheese not to worry - I would take their secret with me to the grave. And, true to my word, I have never told a soul that Britain’s former Prime Minister, best loved TV presenter and most famous bassist-cum-dairy-farmer are all hung like church mice.
I gathered up the trio’s cock pumps and tossed them back in the van, informing them they could collect them from their local depot in four to six weeks, but only on the first Tuesday of the month between 3pm and 3.15pm.
Clarkson & Friends had a ‘Chipping Naughty’ Secret
NEXT WEEK: Brian spills the beans about the time he delivered a ‘We called but you were out’ slip through the Playboy Mansion letterbox, before being invited inside by Hugh Hefner to have full sex with 200 Playmates.