I plonked the thick yellow envelope onto the counter.

“Hello. I need to get this to England as quickly as possible.”

Charles the counterhand looked at me doubtfully. “It’s going to be very expensive.”

“How much and how long?” I asked, steely-eyed. He could see that I was serious.

“Express Courier International,” he replied briskly. “It’s the very best. You can insure it, register it, track it. It’ll be there by the end of the week, guaranteed.” He named his exorbitant price. I paid in cash.

As soon as the barcode was swiped, someone darted out from the back mailroom and snatched my envelope from the scales. I just managed to glimpse his nametag before he sprinted past.

Cody the Courier ran onto the street, his hand reaching high. He expertly dodged the pedestrains to reach a taxi 60 m up the road.

“The airport, please,” he said. The driver nodded, rubbed his e-TAG to warm it up, then took off from the curb.

As the taxi careened through the suburbs, Cody pulled out his BlackBerry to book his flight. The only seat available was in Busines class on the Emirates.

Half an hour later, Cody was checking in (“No checked-in luggage. One hand luggage, 7 kg. One envelope. Aisle seat, please.”) and boarding the Boeing 777-300.

In the flight attendants’ first sweep, Cody politely refused a scotch on the rocks (“Sorry, I’m working.”) but did accept the offer of a Playstation 2. He played for a couple of hours (Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas) then watched a nature documentary about beavers before flicking a switch to convert his business class recliner into a bed.

He didn’t bother shopping during the stopover in Dubai (he’d been there just last week).

As the aeroplane approached London, Cody quickly filled in his arrival documents, barely glancing at the familiar options (“Not carrying animals, drugs, plants, radio transmitters, sealskins, vegetables or weapons.”).

He waited quietly as the plane came to a standstill and the boarding passage was extended and docked. He disembarked with the other passengers but as soon as there was space, Cody exploded into action. He sprinted past the crowd transfixed at the baggage carousel, flew through Customs then burst into the wet London weather.

His hair whiplashed into his eyes as he whirled around and shouted, “Taxi!”

And that’s where he is now. How do I know this? Because I’m tracking him, of course. I guess you do get what you pay for.

Cody’s adventures