When I was a little fella, we had a mail-lady called Mrs Crowther who talked with a slow Australian drawl that you don’t hear anywhere anymore. Mrs Crowther would get the mail to us, no matter what. And not just mail. She delivered groceries, tractor parts, and even messages from friends ten properties away. There wasn’t a natural disaster or a government indisposition that could stop her. On our small colour TV, American cartoons had mailmen who said things like, ‘Wind nor rain nor sleet nor snow, the mail must get through.’ We knew Mrs Crowther watched the same cartoons. Not this bloke. I’m guessing he watches Asian porn and truck-smash videos on his phone, and delivers the mail when he feels like it.

But today I open the lid to find he has bothered to come, and on time, and left me a large box that just fits in my over-sized mailbox. Everyone out here has a big mailbox, courtesy of those Mrs Crowther days and before, when everything came by mail. In these parts, we were long-distance shopping well before the internet came about.

My latest thing is buying cheap machinery online (I mean immorally cheap, like $80 chainsaws that even at a local hardware barn would cost $250) just so I can get the parcel in the mail. It’s a small pleasure, but these days there aren’t many opportunities for pleasure or even distraction. I do not drink anymore, because the morning-tea beers were taking a hold of me. So I hardly ever go to the pub. I no longer have staff. I don’t have anyone to talk to or share things with. The only other person here is James.

I lift the parcel out, and place it on the passenger seat. It’s like Christmas for losers. A present delivered to my mailbox is thrilling, even though the wrapping paper is brown and without decoration, I know the contents, and the person who sent it is probably an algorithm. Although, given the companies I have been buying from, and the prices I’ve been paying, what is inside is usually a weird surprise: parts missing, specifications wrong, assembly backwards. This time it is supposed to be a submersible pump: $85, including delivery. A small one (half a horsepower) for a failing bore. At the price, it was worth the risk, even though I knew it might come without something significant like, say, the pump. Anyway, I drive the box home as if it really is a Christmas present from someone who cares about me.