The gas man cometh. Allegedly.
Given that Lady Bracknell did not actually request the new meter, and that it is, in point of fact, being thrust upon her regardless of her own wishes in the matter, she considers it somewhat unlikely that she will be able to find an opportunity to wait in Bracknell Towers for another twelve hour period in the forseeable future.
Indeed, Lady Bracknell is at a loss to understand why British Gas expect their customers to submit without demur to their claims that they cannot be more precise about their timing than to intimate that a workman will call at some point between 8 am and 8 pm. Surely it can not be entirely beyond the wit of man to construct a rather more rigid timetable? And, this being the run up to Christmas, how realistic is it to anticipate that customers will have so little with which to occupy their time that twelve hours of waiting for the doorbell to ring will not inconvenience them in the slightest?
In Lady Bracknell's distant youth, the needs of the customer were of paramount importance. The customer, in fact, was "always right". But, since the ominous day when Parcelforce withdrew its Saturday morning deliveries, the die would appear to have been firmly and irrevocably cast in favour of the providers of services, and the customer has taken on the aspect of a troublesome gadfly.
Generally speaking, where Lady Bracknell encounters poor service, she will take her custom elsewhere. (For example, she will no longer order her groceries to be delivered from the Tesco website given that their most recent neanderthal delivery man was most put out at her ladyship's refusal to carry half of the delivery upstairs, even when she pointed out to him that, if she were capable of carrying heavy bags of shopping, she would have no need to pay the exorbitant delivery charge.)
But she has changed gas and electricity providers on several occasions in the past, and has found the whole business sufficiently exhausting as to have no great desire to change again. Neither is she sanguine that an alternative provider's standard of customer service would be any higher than that of British Gas.
Bracknell Towers is growing rather chilly, but there would seem to be little to be gained from turning the central heating on at this point given that the gas supply will need to be temporarily turned off in order for the new meter to be fitted.
Instead, Lady Bracknell will retire to bed where, under the comforting warmth of her duvet, she intends to write the last of her Christmas cards.
The gas man failed to arrive within his generously-allotted time span. Lady Bracknell is not amused.