LIVING THE DREAM

or those of us who grew up in the eighties (or, indeed, those who are growing up now but still get their milk delivered every day), the thrill of the daily dairy delivery was tangible and huge. The electric whirring sound of the approaching milk float, the pre-dawn clinking of the bottles, and – most of all – the feeling of superiority if you managed to beat your siblings to the front step to collect that freshly delivered bottle of silver-top. Why? Dibs, that’s why. First person to the door gets to knock the foil top off and decant a fat glob of cream onto their cornflakes, leaving everyone else with ordinary humdrum milk.