When did royal mail counters turn into a hybridisation cloning programme between estate agents and used car salesmen?
It has been a while, since i felt the cold dark northerly winds tousling my hair upon entering the cullis’d gates of ‘mail of royal’. Well it would have being had i popped in and had to queue; but there wasn’t a queue, however it did feel oldie-worldly having to fill in an application form and send it through the post.
So it would have remained and i would have left with a quaint and fuzzy warmness; instead it just had to go and take a running leap over the cliff and plummet into the chasm of the disturbed hope.
Seemingly, we can do everything electronically and online (not long soon before birth and death themselves are conquered); but i remembered a time when you could pop into your post office, simply state that you required a letter recorded or delivered, paid your money and be more or less certain it would be delivered and a signature obtained.
Rose tints? Always, for the good old days.
Yesterday i popped in asked that good old question, to be greeted with a, "it's not secure you know. If you want to make sure it reaches its destination you should send it special or registered,"
"Recorded will just get a signature at the other end, but it might not get there!"
I briefly wondered if this was an opening salvo across the bows, but took the perverse view of ‘meh’, and if it failed to reach the other end, would give me something else to quip over, as my quip carrier’s running low again.
"How much is special delivery?" I thought it best to enquire.
"£5.50," the royal-mail person came back, quick as a flash.
"Ok. No, i'll stick with recorded," i smiled, flashing a toothy plug grin in return.
The look of disappointment on the royal-mail face was palpable. But before the upper lip could twitch, a cog on the other side turned. "Do you have savings?"
"Pardon," i asked, wondering when i'd walked into a sales upgrade convention.
"We do safe and secure savings."
And no i didn't enquire as to what was actually meant, not so soon after serious doubt had already been placed on the likelihood of my special, but cheaply sent letter, reaching its final destination; due to potential hijacking, kidnapping or pilfering by one of the royal-mail persons mobile colleagues.
Instead i bit my tongue, "thanks, but i already have savings. My money’s safely locked away,” – all $2.85c of it.
"Ok,” the royal-mail person disappointedly intoned, “just remember that we're always here."
That i will, and luckily so is another the branch where if you get looked at (let alone grunted to) and come out unscathed, can be viewed as damned good service, and it’s only a nice walk down... ah yes, knife pin alley!
Let’s see now; corporate drone, knife pin alley, corporate drone, knife pin al-