Going Postal. Again.
I went to the Post Office to post something earlier. "First class inland" I said to the clerk.
"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?"**
"Yes."
"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?***
"No."
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.
"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?"**
"Yes."
"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?***
"No."
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.
posted by Richard at 5:17 pm
6 Vegetable peelings:
I'm just pleased I wasn't in the queue behind you. I know all about a festering of dissappointed pensioners behind me. As does Crozier and Mandleston I should imagine.
Richard, I know you like to have the odd moan (!!) which I find most amusing first thing in the morning and long may you continue to do so.
Personally, as someone who uses the postal services quite often, I have little to grumble at. My post office lives at the back of the Spar shop and is staffed by friendly, helpful people. My post always arrives the next day, even with a 2nd class stamp.
Maybe its a Devon thing...
You have a Post Office? Consider yourslf lucky.
Rog, for once there wasn't a queue when I walked in. There was when I left.
Phil, as you know full well being from down the road, Crewe is at the heart of this country's railway network. There are six lines going to virtually all parts of the country coming out of the station which is bang slap next door to the sorting office. So what is that fwit wanting to do? Shut the sorting office and move it to Liverpool in the name of efficiency. The only time I've cheered a Tory was when our new MP stood on the same platform as the unions last year in pouring rain and said he'd fight it.
Dave, we used to have about 5 more than we've got at the moment
Can't beat the special delivery.Have coughed up the fiver I would say about 5times to g'tee next day delivery and on 3 occassions it actually made it!
why did it say I am anonymous!
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