Going Postal. Again.
"Is it of any value and do you want guaranteed delivery tomorrow?" she ventured enquiringly.
"No" I said, "It's not of any particular value except for the fact that I wish to send it to someone otherwise I'd jump up and down on it for the sheer hell of it. And look at the address. Hertfordshire. It's 150 miles away from here on the motorway. I can do it in three hours at a steady throb in my ancient Rover. If it's not there by tomorrow morning, that nobjockey boss of yours, Crozier, will be hearing from me. First Class used to be guaranteed next day delivery to all but the most distant and inaccessible islands of this vast realm until that useless tosser took over. Post offices used to display a map of guaranteed delivery times, it would be hard bloody work trying to find the miniscule speck on it that would have to wait an extra 24 hours for their Private Eyes to be delivered. So how much?"*
"I'm only doing my job. We're told to say that. £1.24 Standard, £5.48 Guaranteed delivery."
"Like those patronising twats in Morrisons who, when you approach with a pot of yoghurt, ask if you need any help with your packing you mean?"**
"So, really what you're saying is that by saying it's not guaranteed, you're hoping I'm going to get all twitchy and worried that my precious little letter isn't going to get there in time and that I'm going to stump up another £4 for the pleasure. I'd like to point out to you that we're in the age of high tech postal sorting machines, highly trained operatives, speedy and efficient distribution networks and highly paid and motivated staff yet you still can't guarantee that my small parcel can't get to the outskirts of Watford from Crewe within 24 hours, something that has been guaranteed almost since Sir Rowland Hill proposed the Uniform Penny Post over 170 bloody years ago? Christ woman, the poor sod would be turning in his grave. I could have had a conversation quicker than texting across London in 1850 using the postal system yet you can't guarantee me delivery to a town that's an hour and a bit down the same bloody railway line?***
Adam Crozier and Peter Mandelson should be thrown into a dark room full of bitey spiders. Between them they have managed to completely ruin a public service purely in the name of greed. Of course it's inefficient, it's being run by a complete arse.
*I might not have said all of this. I didn't call Crozier a nobjockey.
** I did say this.
*** I should have said this but there was a queue. I said it to myself as I walked out and sounded like my medication was overdue.