Things a Postman says

 Don't you mean Postwoman? 


No, actually! I always wanted to be a postman; it's traditional and as you can plainly see, I have the trousers for it.

Before I start, you will see that I am the very proud owner of the new Kindred Spirit award. The Lovely Sarah Mac awarded it to me, and she is one of the reasons that I continue to blog. When I began, I knew I wanted an outlet for myself but didn't realise I'd be opening the door to friends. It has been a surprise, delight and support to me. She is definitely a kindred spirit and in her fantastic blog, I sometimes feel she is my West Country doppleganger. However, since she is tall and willowy, more like a negative of my much shorter, rounder self.

I look forward to welcoming any new friends to PP and to finding more kindred spirits x

So, things a Postman says:

•  Knock! Knock! Knock!   Good afternoon Sir, can I have your mail back, it's for next door
• Ratatatat!  Hello Sir, can I give you this? (hands over awkward package and clocks the customer looking expectantly at the pile of mail in my  his/her hand)    Yes, you may have more mail Sir, but I actually start at the other end of the street and , well your parcel was getting on my nerves  Customer(gamely):  See you soon then.                                                                                                                           

• May I say Sir, that is the most splendiferous moustache!

• Roll up the magazine and the minute the dog grabs it, pull it straight back out through the letterbox quick! It won't do that again  - but it wasn't me who told you.

• Knock! Knock! Knock!    I am very sorry to ask you this Madam, but can you take me to 49a please. I've looked and looked.

• Sign here, Sir. Print on the top then sign on the bottom.     Do you have a pen? 

•   Knock Knock !  Sorry Sir, Just returning your pen.

•  It's not so bad as long as you're working
• Yes thanks, it is cold enough for me
• It's OK if you keep moving

• Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I hope that's a dog's toy!

• Yes your post is a bit damp but if you would care to look at me for a moment then I think we can put this into perspective.

• Hahahaha! No Sir, I can't take that to Basingstoke.

• That frikkin dog from number 50 nearly had my hand off through the letterbox this morning!

• There is blood all over the mail for my route this morning. Who would be so unprofessional?  What if they had something? Why didn't they get a plaster? After bleeding on the first 20, you'd think they'd have sought help, unbeliev......     .........Boss, where's the first aid box? I've cut my finger!

• Haha! No, I didn't manage to take your mail to Basingstoke.

• You can leave your handbag in the depot no worries. No one will touch it.  Best take your uniform home though.... ........

• Either number 52 has bought an identically vicious dog, or the one from number 50 has dug a tunnel!

• Ha..Basingstoke was lovely, Thanks.

• Isn't that your telephone ringing? My Mum's fine, Thanks for asking? Erm, telephone.. No Dad isn't too well. Tel... No my Mum isn't Jackie. Answer your frikking phone!

• Member of Public:   That's not a local accent is it?

                            Me:         No, I'm from Hoochter Chuchter*  in Fife
                            MofP:     Oh, I know Hoochter Chucter!              
                                             silence      pin drop        very quiet       bit more silence        nothing



       Me:      Horrible isn't it?
       MofP:  Didn't like to say.




And finally, an anecdote.
 During the course of my day, I come into contact, either hither or thither with young men. One in particular blushes profusely every time he sees me and finds it difficult to keep eye contact.
 I was just congratulating myself on 'life left in the old dog yet' syndrome when, in a rare moment of self awareness, I realised that the poor young man is mortified because a middle-aged tubby woman from Hoochter Chuchter looks at him with the clear desire to eat him with a spoon.




* Names have been changed to protect the innocent (and me from being stabbed)

Confessions of a Royal Mail Operative

I am a Royal Mail operative and very proud!

 I am the owner of a hi-vis vest. Oh, yes I am.

 Not to mention fingerless gloves,

 5 red polo shirts and 2 enormous pairs of trousers, which unfortunately fit.

 I'll not dwell on the fleece, everyone is allowed a mistake. No boots as yet, but will keep you posted.

 And I have saved the best till last -
 a bright orange waterproof coat which I love with a passion. I only take it off to get into bed.
What's the weather? Rainy? It's a day for my coat. And today -bright and sunny? Well, best forgo the fleece and wear..my coat!
You'll be seeing me in the summer wearing nothing but the coat in order to keep cool. OOOOO I luvs it!

Yes, I used to be a consultant... but the arse dropped out of that at approximately the same time as my arse started to get bigger.
 Yes, I used to earn at least 3 times as much , but I can honestly say that I wasn't any happier for it. I love the fresh air, the weather -any weather- the people, the exercise and even the occasional dog.
Dogs are definitely a problem; it's not an old wives tale.
 Dogs are territorial and posties invade their territory.
Dogs bite and posties are hospitalised. Caution needs to be employed.

On my first day with a shiny face and brushed hair and the Ready Brek sponged off my jumper, I presented myself to the boss expecting him to be as relieved to see me as I was to start work. I had tried 6 times to get this, my dream job.

Instead there were embarrassed, blank stares all round as they hadn't known I was coming, followed very swiftly afterwards by panic as I had arrived at approximately the same time as the posties were leaving on their rounds . If The Boss didn't do something quick, he'd be forced to play dominoes with  me till they all came back.
 So they chucked a hi-vis vest at me and a bicycle helmet, introduced me to a very nice woman who looked exactly the same as me and told me to pick a bike cos I was going to shadow her on her round for a week.

Now Royal Mail bikes come in 1 size.
Large.

I am 5'2".

Once mounted (arf arf) I could not even nearly touch the ground and my crotch was under enormous strain from my feet which were, for the most part, dangling. Occasionally they touched a pedal when the moon was in ascendency.
If we had to stop at all on the mile-long cycle, for - let's say for the sake of argument - a level crossing , then I would have to use my upper body strength to lift myself off the seat and drop down like a Chinese State gymnast onto the road IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD and wait for the train to pass.
This would leave me with the dilemma of getting back on without the aid of a small donkey or a milk crate.
 In the event, I plumped for a weird shuffle where I pretended to cycle but in reality was running across the level crossing with 1 leg either side of the bike in the manner of a car full of circus clowns, but without the comfort.

And my hat was wonky.

As the week progressed, I got a bit more proficient on my bike but unfortunately, never mastered signalling. So I nearly got articulated.

 No wolf whistles for Postie Pam not surprisingly. But the upside is should I ever wish to, I can now join Uniform Dating.

PS. If anyone can explain why anyone should want to join Uniform Dating, it would save me from furrowing my brow in puzzlement and the cost of a facelift.
Do you have to wear a uniform, want to wear a uniform or just fancy anyone at all who is wearing a uniform? Is is a fetish thing or a profession thing?
 Is it full of vicars and tarts?
 Do you know anyone who has joined, are they in full possession of their marbles? 
Do they hold a valid hi-vis vest?
 Honestly, I am baffled.