Let's start this week's column with a modern-day moral conundrum. Last Tuesday, I ordered a takeaway pizza.

Tuesday night are complicated in my household with school runs and dance classes, one of those evenings where being a father is more about running a glorified taxi service. Time is tight and hence supper is a carefully timed pizza.

I'm not proud to state that when it comes to Pizza Express, I have achieved gold club status. If you eat enough pizza as a family, then eventually the rewards tick in.

That coveted gold status means your orders comes with various free starters, mains and drinks, takeaways included.

Over time, I've got my ordering down to a fine art, beating the syatem by maxing out on the free stuff to keep the overall cost to a minimum.

Last Tuesday, I kept my eagle eye on the delivery times, ordering at precisely the right moment to ensure the pizza arrived in the small window between one daughter arriving late from school and the other heading out for ballet.

When the pizza delivery rider arrived, as normal failing to find the address, I did my regular walk up and down the street until I found him and our meal.

Laying the feast out on the table, I noticed that there seemed to be more boxes than usual. Opening them up, the pizzas were different to the ones we ordered.

There was then two bulging servings of pasta, along with drink, dessert and a side of some strange fried halloumi stick concoction.

'Ah,' I said. 'We appear to have been given the wrong order.' Somewhere else, across Salisbury, a group of what I assume were at least four ravenous adults were presumably looking down in similar bafflement at being given a kid's meal for supper.

'What do we do?' my daughters asked.

I'm not completely sure of the consumer rights situation if you're given the wrong delivery. If it were non-perishable goods, you should probably give the company a ring to rearrange.

But food, I concluded, is different: by the time you'd rung the pizza place and they'd somehow sorted out swapping the meals, everything would be stone cold.

Or if they sorted out a replacement delivery, then it was going to take another 45 minutes minimum before that order arrived: meaning a daughter going to ballet on an empty stomach.

I suspect, too, that there must be some good old health and safety issues about getting a second-hand food order already opening by someone else.

What would you do? I made the decision to eat the pizza. So if you're reading this, and you ended up with my order last week, I am sorry!