Saturday, 1 September 2007
Lots going on with me at the moment and I had thought about a super-rant but have decided to be lenient and feed it to you in bight sized pieces. The first one goes thus. My "Damhead Diary" has died a death simply because the protection rackets and vice dens I was hoping for simply don't exist. These people are just too damn wholesome. So I have come up with a new idea. People seem to be interested in my current job so I am going to initiate "Postie's Posits". The more alert grammar fans will detect a continuation of the alliterative theme. So I go up to a door this morning with a "Special Delivery" letter. To the rest of the world this means Registered Post. I ring the bell (which I can clearly hear) and wait. Nothing. So I ring it again, and give a big long push. Still nothing, therefore I am forced to put a notice through the letterbox and return the item to the office. In order to "guarantee" that this little letter is delivered before 9am someone paid £11.25! What a waste. I could have bought a bottle of sherry for that! But being serious, the money could been used to help someone starving, or disease ridden, or it could have helped stop a child or an animal being abused. It could have helped to stop me weeping buckets at the senseless waste, like I am now.