The Day Following Boxing Day

Having had several packets arrive, all in good time at that, it is depressing to sit here and listen for the ringing doorbell or knock on the door and nothing happens.  No postman arrived, no post van was noted passing the door.  Even 'White Van Man,' has deserted us.  If it carries on like this I may have to spend my own money on things just to have parcels to wait for.

However, while I wait, I do have several new books to read, they are in the queue like so many others, and a book voucher to squander on Amazon's cheap books also.  It would be terrible not to have books awaiting study would it not?  

 Another marvellous piece of sham PR today.  Having discovered that 95% of people do not wish to return to 'Imperial Weights' and are fine with 'Metric,' the Brexit promise to return to 'imperial' has been dropped.  On the same day they announce, with a smug grin, that from today you can buy wine in pint bottles!  Brilliant!

Of course there is one or two problems here.  For one, no-one bottles wine in pint bottles, and no-one intends to start.  The other unfortunate fact is that no wine dealer, producer, buyer, wants pint bottles of wine.  It appears Churchill asked for this many years ago, but since then not one soul has done this.

Another step towards destruction at Tory House.

 

Xmas Post

 

Busy day.

I had to stumble down to the Post Office to post a wee packet to Edinburgh.  I arrived behind an attractive young woman with baby in arms.  Unfotunately, in front of her was a woman, clearly a regular, posting a bag full of packets of various sizes.  This appeared to be a usual occurence for her.  

We waited.

We waited.

We waited and we waited.

We chatted between ourselves.

The dozyy child did not join in, sleep was still upon him.

A woman with one envelope joined us.

We waited.

We smirked at the wait.

We waited.

Eventually the lass was finished and the queue rrejoiced.

My turn came and the friendly Asian lass smiled at me as usual, informed me of the price with a quizzical smile, grinned at my gasping, and encouraged me to pay for it.

I like her.  She has personality and works very hard.  This is a family run shop and they work long hours.

Then she has to deal with the kids and feed them all.

Even a 'Tesco Express' opening up almost next door has not killed them, though Tesco do not have a popular Post Office inside.

Back home I attepted to watch the first of four football games today.

All I saw was the end of Argentina's loss to Saudi Arabia.  Ths was difficult as I was already seeking a box for parcel number two.  All day was then spent, between fixing this box and cooking 'Slop Soup.' The soup has lived up to its name.

The packet, during Denmark v Tunisia, was coompleted, 'ParcelForce' arranged to collect it tomorrow, too heavy to carry to PO.  Then my poor dinner cooked badly while Mexico v Poland ran themselvbes into the ground for nothing.

Tonight I sit in the cold bedroom awaiting the heating to climb higher while watching Australia play France.  This is our team now, three Aussies play for the Heart of Midlothian and possibly will appear tonight.  Therefore we are all 'Roos,' now.

One at least appears, here we go!

Foggy Night

Having spent the foggy morning in the museum feeding mince pies to the old folks listening to the children's choir as they entertained them I was not available when the postman called to deliver yet another Christmas parcel.  So tonight I dragged my weary bulk down the long slog to the sorting office. The fog had worsened, the night had fallen, the opportunity to attempt night shots beckoned.

Overworked posties vans rested for the night, overworked posties did likewise. Whether they rush home to note the price of their free (cheap) shares, donated by H.M. Government as a bribe to keep them sweet I don't know, but most will be well aware of their value today.  How lucky these van drivers are to deliver around the rural areas, especially in summer.  No struggling along with a huge bag on a bike, or pushing one of those absurd trolleys that the management now wish to insist all postmen use thus making deliveries even slower than they are now!  Sometimes you wonder how the men in the offices get their jobs. Could it be that when you have no experience of a job you will be able to suggest a better (e.g. cheaper) way of doing it?  Could it be an office wallah is just incompetent?  Most  sorting office managers had at one time been postmen today however many have little work experience (of any kind) and those above them clearly none whatsoever.  The future of mail delivery in the UK is not good!

This building was once the social club of the major works that stood opposite. After a hundred or so years of operation the company shrank and moved on, it may even yet operate in a small way elsewhere.  The building has served many purposes since, being closed by the constabulary occasionally, and now appears to be a mere pub.  The naming of such places tells a great deal about the area and the history thereof, it reflects on the clientele as well as the owners, it speaks of the townsfolk and indicates something of the local culture.  This one is called, 'The Pub!'  No doubt it tells you all you need to know of the locals!

Can you just imagine what life was like when we used coal to heat us?  Each house, plus every factory, pumping out coal smoke drifting over the towns. Weather like this brought down the mixture of smoke and fog which we referred to as smog, a choking blinding substance that encouraged bronchial disease, blackened buildings, led to traffic accidents killed more people than cold weather does today. Dickens 'Bleak House,' begins with a vivid description of Victorian London in the rain, people slithering down one side and up the other at Holborn Viaduct, or before that was built to be more correct.  Rain, mist, smoke, people, all mixed in together.  It must have been awful when smog fell and folks were so unhealthy anyway!  

Ah well, I got my packet, a tin of toffees and struggled home while looking for pictures. My life you see is so exciting, are you envious, what?......oh!    

   

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