No, not that one. Sorry. Though I do like Terry Pratchett’s little venture into the background of stamps and stuff.
I mean the day to day postal situation. Have probably mentioned my poor postman before, and the problems he has with ending up on his knees under the book load. He has an alternative. Though to be fair, that means he does not get to ring my doorbell and exchange pleasantries (with me?) while handing over tottering piles of jiffybags.
The other way is to shove all the book parcels at his pal in the little red van. He has an advantage – other than not having to physically carry the books – and that is his arrival time chez bookwitch. It’s a lot earlier. That’s good. And bad. Early post is mostly good, but on a Saturday it can be a different sort of early, like very early. Admittedly, not as early as the next door neighbour sometimes calls. They get up at seven regardless of which day of the week it is, and we don’t.
It’s not bad or weak minded or anything else dreadful to sleep in, very slightly, on a Saturday, is it? If the Resident IT Consultant is at home, Saturdays are not a problem. He will have to get out of bed for our man in the van. But yesterday he wasn’t here, and my sixth sense told me vanman would be calling, so I got up before nine. Just in case. To be fair, he was comfortably late this time, at after nine, and I was still in bed at half eight.
Anyway, for an ex-postal worker it’s quite nice to have some contact with the postal trade while it lasts. And I do prefer it to the other modes of transport, because you know where you are with the postman and his wheeled colleague. On the other hand, there is continuity in some of the other delivery people, too. A couple of them used to deliver shampoo in these parts. (Yes, I buy a lot of the stuff.) One has moved on to picking up unwanted goods, and the other delivers passports (not so many of those).
But at least they are none of them like my Brighton postman, back in the dark ages. We lived in a house fronting directly onto the pavement, and witches don’t like net curtains, despite the well meant advice from new Grandma who pointed out to the little foreigner that they exist, so could be used. Our postman used to make a lot of detours past the front room bay window, staring and waving to me, as I sat in my armchair, reading. See, I read even in those long distant days.