Parcels...

I was quite confused this morning.  A parcel ought to have been delivered last night, this I was informed off at 10 mins to 5 pm!  So, I sat up here watching the Heart of Midlothian commit suicide and got a notice at 15 mins to 9 pm that Royal Mail would not be delivering after all.

This morning, just about 7:30, I got a message saying my parcels had been delivered.  The attached picture showed two such at someone else's door, an unrecognised door.  I went down to look, nothing to see, though two letters had been delivered, possibly late last night.  This troubled me, missing parcels, which door, and still not had my coffee.  

Then the doorbell rang.  A postman apologised for the early hour and offered me a box!  It was mine so I grabbed it in both hands.  I mentioned the missing parcels and he, as a good postman ought, ran away.  I returned to my coffee, once again checked the Royal Mail email and discovered the parcel just delivered had been delivered.  Good!  I looked again and noticed the other picture, with mysterious parcels, had disappeared.  So, the postie had hit the wrong button and left me worrying for nothing, I think...

Anyway, I hobbled around to Tesco for last orders, bumped into a couple of cold church people, stupidly came home the long way via the park, wandered slowly while chatting to a lonely old woman being walked by her dog.  This morning I had spoken to several people, possibly the Christmas spirit, possibly this is how this town works.  

I spent some times ending an email to several people, four of whom refused it via the Spam Folder, and one who had a mass of words to look at.  This sorted itself later.  Worn out I slid into a stupor where little happened.  Not much change from normal really.  

Later, as I ate my frugal tea, my sister called to inform me of my cousins death.  She was 90, had suffered dementia for some time and this was somewhat expected.  However, that is four deaths I have had in about three months.  None were young, and this is what life brings, but it is something I would like to avoid.  

Idiot!

Technical brilliance just cost me £20.

This wireless mouse, no it does not act like a wireless, this mouse ceased working.  It had fallen upon the floor for no good reason a day or so before and I worried it may be wonky.  However, I changed the battery, I had three lying on the mantlepiece doing nothing, put one in to discover this did not work.

The brute lit up and went off again.  Most annoying.  So I tried the other batteries, same result.  It is either broke or the battery is dead.  I had no more batteries, bar one.  This I took from elsewhere and inserted it into the mouse.  Same result.  Nothing for it but to obtain new batteries anyway and order a working mouse.

Several long days later it arrived, at 7 pm in the evening!  Royal Mail parcels are being delivered at all times, and on a 7 day rota at that.  No wonder smiling posties are hard to find these days.  Long hours, no extra pay, bad management, increased prices and appalling delivery ideas, all this to line the pockets of the few while the service deteriorates.  I support the postmen, not the owners.

Anyway, I got the new mouse, fixed it up with a new battery and put it to work, success! 

I had faith this would work!

However, I then tried one of my new, new batteries straight from the shop in the old, broken mouse.  This is an attempt that must be tried, and of course it worked first time!

So, tech marvel me spent £20 on a new mouse when all I required was a new working battery.  

I do not come from a family of engineers...

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.

 

Late Post

To be fair the 'Daily Mail' has not got around to this yet, but they will!  They always do!

The only hoax so far is the one on the mobile from crooks pretending to be 'Evri,' click this link they ask for info re parcel.  Sadly if I use 'Evri' they always deal through the email, and that can be difficult also.  However, I finished wrapping the boxes today.  Almost no Brown Tape left in this house, and booked 'ParcelForce' to collect three of them tomorrow.  These might be delivered by Monday, or even Saturday!   

One advantage of the web is not having to carry such things down to the Post Office these days!   'White Van Man' has his uses, he can carry the box and deliver on time, usually.  I only need to carry small packets and buy stamps from the PO, while Royal Mail line their profits through my book of stamps and hinder the actual postman from delivering what I send.   

I began this post yesterday but failed to finish as I got bored reading it.    

The 'ParcelForce' man arrived before 10 am today, cheerfully removing my three boxes, and leaving me with the rest of the day to catch up on the things missing this week.

I failed to do them.

Instead, I took my '£4 off if you spend £30' con voucher round to Tesco and filled up on things required, and one or two that were not.  These vouchers have helped the Christmas shop, and the one for next week,  sadly only £3 off, will enable me to buy the much used things I will need so as to avoid desperate struggles through the last minute Christmas shop crowd.

The mass of household chores that await have been curtailed because I do nothing at the weekends, so maybe next week instead will be busy cleaning, maybe.   

The news on Twitter, but not in the press, has been filled with the 'Tetchy' PM going off in a huff because the press were asking questions he could not answer, and not for the first time, concerning his Rwanda Obsession.  Today it leaks out that the latest £100 million paid to the nation that has so far seen only Home Secretaries and no 'Boat People,' was signed off by Suella.  Who to believe?

None of them!

This shambles might be heading for closure, but what will result? 

If I were he I would call a vote on this Bill, or is there one tonight?  Anyway, if the ERG and the neo Nazis do not support the PM I would take the whip from them and call an election for the soonest possible moment, probably the last week in January.  Conservative members who have lost the vote cannot stand as prospective Conservative candidates.  This means all the far right would have to stand as independents and would not beat the new Tory candidate, who would lose anyway.  He will lose an election but if he won he would be rid of many the nation does not require in the House.

However, owing to a glitch in the system I remain, as yet, unemployed as PM.

Why are there five syllables in the word monosyllabic?

Christmas Posting

A slow wander down the road led to the early packets being deposited into the care of Royal Mail.  The care is not what it was but what can you expect with a Tory government that cares only for making money for themselves?  Privatised Royal Mail, with precedence being given to parcels, cares little about actual mail today.  This is the reason letters are delayed, postmen confused day by day as to what role they will play, and an attempt to sell of Royal Mail parcels to the people who now run Royal Mail will come before the election.

Rejoice!  Rejoice!

Note the Post Office name!

The Jubilee Oak used to sit just up the road from this shop.  It sat in the middle of the road until they redesigned the road, chopped down the tree and the shops on the corner, which stuck out a fair bit, and installed traffic lights and dare-devil crossings.  

I suspect it was Victoria's jubilee, lots appear to have been planted at that time for jubilee, they did the same for the last queen.  How many were conveniently placed so as to block the clogged roads 70 years or so later?

Nothing else happened...

Postman

Freddie was barking downstairs. That's Freddie the dog I must make clear.  He is a wonder at ensuring no-one approaches the door, the back yard, or even passes the front of the house and has the audacity to linger for a moment without Freddie warning them of his presence.

Just after noon he was at it.  With the folks downstairs being at work I looked out to see if it was the postman.  In fact it was the parcel postman, Zac, who had parked at our door, indicating a delivery for the new neighbour.  

Over the three years she dwelt in No 5, I became quite used to receiving packets for Angelika.  The new lass is now doing the same thing, also without mentioning things are arriving.  I wondered what kind of people they would be, it appears to be two young women, but I only ever see one, and I asked one of the Kirk to pray about the neighbours.  The next evening she knocked on my door and presented me with a couple of cakes.  It appears the agent had not bothered to explain where the electric meters are, nor I suspect many other things.  However, politely refusing the cakes while not returning them I indicated what she must do.  All heart me, and all heart and fattened arteries also now.

Anyway, a box arrived and I took it in.  Zac knew I would anyway, and he chatted re the joy of Royal Mail.  After a year or more of strikes, now resolved, little has changed.  All that has been done is to push any further squabbles into the future for Labour to handle badly.  

I enquired re the second, bent and twisted birthday card, that came through the door the other day.  He indicated a young postman, one who has been around for three years or so, is quite useless, and even when put on difficult 'walks' continues to be useless, but will not resign.  It appears he does not have the dedication to the job that is required.  Clearly subtle tactics have been used, but subtlety is not for this young man, it may be an idea to make him a manager!  

Roger, the proper postman, is off sick.  This makes little difference as he has spent much of the time on the 'walk' off sick.  The young lad is doing it now, possibly regularly, possibly only occasionally.  Even Roger was better than this.

I have some good memories as a postman.  The majority of the men were good to work with, there was little strife, only occasional outbursts.  This is good among 100 or so men.  I trusted them all, never expecting any to be found stealing, though one or two avoided some work.  The banter, usually racist in my opinion, against me I still miss.  I of course never said anything to upset them.  When retired the work can be missed, the banter with good men is always missed.

Trying a new exercise regime this week.  The pain appears to indicate it is working.  At least that is what they all say.  I'm not so sure myself.  Losing weight, eating better, exercising differently, all will go into making me a super 11 stone muscle bound hunk, well, in a month or so I will certainly be a hunk, or is that hulk?

A Bee concerning Royal Mail

Royal Mail again!

The privatised mess that is Royal Mail continues to exasperate the public.  The need to feed the shareholders, paid £400 million of the £700 million profit past year, is destroying the service, or at least what remains.  The man at the top, paid £750,000 a year, has proved to be incompetent, sat in front of a Commons Committee and failed twice to appear in control of his company or his knowledge of said company.  The man on the street delivering mail has less control, less money, and all the grumbles this man at the top avoids.

Chris, our postman, works a three day week.  This is quite common, and gives employment to men over 50 keeping them busy and offering a decent public service.  The problem is while Christ covers Monday to Wednesday the rest of the week is covered by overtime.  Royal Mail no longer allow overtime, unless the entire 'walk' is finished!  So, nobody delivers here Thursday to Saturday.

My beautiful, wise and clever niece posted a packet containing family stuff to me.  It had not arrived.  This of course is the Easter Weekend so Friday and Monday are holidays.  WOB, the book shop, posted a packet of three cheap books to me and told me it had been collected.  Indeed, on Saturday night a Royal Mail man logged the packet into the system informing me it was with them.  This morning I checked the tracker and found the packet lodged in Chelmsford, awaiting forwarding to the sorting office.  Nothing today thought I.

At around 11:30 Chris rang the bell, offered me two packets, one from WOB and one from my niece. He also mentioned that the ban on overtime continues, his 'walk,' one I used to do, has increased in size by the addition of yet another street!  Madness!  He has not got enough time as it is to finish the 'walk.'

This results in certain streets being left until tomorrow, which is actually a crime, not that the man at the top cares.  He also made clear that he is no longer allowed to log packets in the morning before delivery.  If he does this allows the customer to know he is arriving, but if they are out it has to be returned to the office.  By not logging it in the customer does not know they have tried to deliver and remains ignorant of the fiddle until they happen to be in.  Customer service, not since privatisation at Royal Mail.

At least I have some books on the shelf, and a pile of old letters and photographs to work through.

The Conservative Party ideology is based on privatising everything to save state money.  In the long run it destroys all services, social, transport and practical, enables some to make money from shares, their friends, and donations aplenty to arrive from those running private companies.  Corruption is the word.

Prisons, probation, railways, buses, Royal mail, DVLA, Passport Office, you name it, anything privatised it does not work, too few staff too many board members lining their pockets.  Has anything privatised worked?

And another thing, stamp prices.  Now I think £1:05 for a first class stamp is a bargain, as it ought to be at the destination overnight.  Under this regime, a good word, it is failing and price increase appear unjust to many.

  

Terms and Conditions Read?

Us dreich, miserable, types arose on the last day of a dreich, miserable year, to venture out into the dreich, miserable damp day to collect the several items forgotten yesterday when we visited Sainsburys.  An early start in the mirk was required as the rain lessened and the met office live map indicated very heavy rain to follow shortly.  They were correct.  As I huffed my way upstairs the rain had already began the days offering.  This the result, they say, of cold weather pushing down into north America thereby shifting the jet stream to the south.  This brings mild, but wet weather, or the Atlantic Ocean as we call it, upon our heads.  Climate change ensures this has made things worse than usual.  Rivers are higher, some places flood more, but at least the Water Companies sewage floating therein is swept away more quickly.  Touching innit?

At least the post is catching up.  The cards have been arriving, a parcel or two also, and a delayed box from up north has arrived full of excellent goodies.  I do not deserve women like these girls.  Of course the 'Private Eye' mag from three weeks ago has not yet appeared, and I am unsure if one ought to have arrived this week.  No doubt there are other items lingering in those large sorting offices placed at the edge of towns which will arrive in due course.  I understand how this happens, a 'York,' a large stand upright basket if you will, full of mails in bags arrives, it is pushed to the side with all the others.  Day after day, strike after strike, more mail arrives and the 'York' is pushed to the back.  Therefore later mail gets through first, until someone realises what is happening and changes things around.  This kind of thing, believe me, is easily done.  The dreich, drookit and miserable postman delivered my box today but without a smile.  Mind you, in all the years I have known him smiling was not seen as his normal habit.  Anyway, that's more chocolate for my few remaining teeth, a pullover that fits and another book to read.  This is a good one.  She has always chosen very good books for me, though I suspect her son helps, and this is another good one, which you will hear about in good time I suspect.  

So, we leave this year of joy and happiness, several Prime Ministers, umpteen Chancellors, and goodness knows how many cabinet ministers have come and gone.  The stability under the teeth now residing in No. 10 is based on making more money for the rich, not upsetting the 'wide-eyed loons,' and selling off whatever is left on the Tory ideology list.

More strikes then?

The year makes no difference.  Life goes on whatever the year.  We decide what happens, and the Good Lord rules over all the feeble upstarts leading the nations, both good and bad, mostly it is true, bad.    

No need to despair, Jesus continues to rule, our lives will have their ups and downs, there will be good times and bad, tragedy and laughter, and hopefully you will enjoy much laughter in spite of the many tragedies that we will face.  

Now normally, I am not one to Complain, but...

So, being desperate to post a packet to my latest Great Niece I hobbled unwillingly down the road to the PO.  My knees expressed their dismay, my tired body indicated my bed was the other way, and the sun cheered me up by shining in my eyes from a very low angle generously blinding me.  I was surprised to find the smiling lady not at work, the sub PO was closed.  "It opens at 10am," said the man running the shop and doing about 96 hours a week.  Holiday arrangements I presume.  Vexed, my knees considered murder and mayhem as I trudged back the way I had come.  This was not the day to fail, I was too tired to cope, and I therefore did not cope well.

Back home I considered my position, I considered lying flat on my back the best option, however, needs must, so I rose and continued the joy filled day.  The router is still slow, speed of 11, instead of 50.  I was thinking of playing with it again but instead I began to make soup.  My good day was to continue here.  All went reasonably well, though the suitable ingredients were hard to find, anything and everything was thrust in.  I continued with other important work such as clearing the mess left by this soup operation, and realised the soup was burning!  I now have four more bowls of vile burnt soup to eat, with a smile.  I know it is vile as I had two bowls and suddenly understood why Indian and Pizza takeaways are so popular.

Then I had to remove the rubbish for the men tomorrow, or whenever they come.  I also had to clamber down to the cellar, find the electric meter readings, and struggle back upstairs, smiling all the way.  Already the electric people have sent letters warning of increased prices, but not of how they use the money for their advantage and not mine.  I expect in February when things change I will be robbed blind!  

A Trudge to Get Bread

As expected we rose to a white landscape this morning.  Slow traffic edged its was along the highway, occasional workers coughed and muttered as they slipped their way past.  Occasional dogwalkers muttered also while trying to find a clear spot for the dog.  Clearly, not all succeeded.  

Much against my better judgement I joined the cheery throng, once the schoolkids had passed by.  Whether they were off to school or off school I knew not, but I let them go first.  By the time I got fed, dressed and had my boots on, the traffic was beginning to flow normally.  Clearly the majority had remained indoors and only the workers and the desperate went out.  I needed bread... 

To get bread I trudged through the snow, being reminded of how hard this could be.  A few inches lay there, pathways already clear down the middle of the path, and at the side areas where children had sought to be the first to leave their footprints in the large white expanse in front of them.  Who can blame them?  Did we all not wish to do that?  And some of you still do!

One man, dressed for the front room, hurried across the park, pulled out his phone, took a quick picture, and ran away back from whence had had come somewhat guiltily.  The rest of us, warmly wrapped and slow moving, ignored him.  Most offered a rueful remark as we passed one another, one woman annoyed at being 'called in' to work when she wanted to take pictures also.  How cruel life is.  I bet her pictures would be better thought out than mine.

At the far end I snapped a shot from an area dominated by the early, and frozen, dog walkers.  I have taken such shots for years yet little changes.  To think that once this was a school ground, and before that a rich man's house?  Before that it appears to have been a field, an old painting shows this in the 1800s with a cow happily wandering about.  All things must change.

 

I had hoped to see the birds behind the church but clearly they were struggling for food at the moment.  None bar an occasional wood pigeon flew by, and they were not stopping.  I wondered how they would feed themselves today, though I suspect peoples gardens would be places to find free offerings in this weather.  Not much I can do to help these days.

My route took me past the freezing Town Hall and the old water fountain, it no longer works of course, but there are less horses, pigs, sheep, cows and buyers these days.  Bottled water appears uppermost today.  Council workers were spreading grit around the area, clearing a safe path, and working up a sweat.  Sadly, we have no equipment that allows me to do this here, just an old stiff brush which merely spreads the stuff and makes it slippier!  I will not tell you how I know this.

The only splash of colour comes from the Post Box.  Note the 'Sat' for Saturday tag, indicating nothing was collected that day.  I suspect it was not collected today either.  Vast quantities of mail fills the Royal Mail offices, little of it finds its way to me however!  I am all in support of the striking workers, however, Royal Mail and this grubby government are not willing to do the deal, the failing attempt to turn the people against the strikers has not yet led to a climbdown by government or their men.  I note however, the nurse will not strike in Scotland as the government their has found a solution to the problem.  Why can the English not do the same?  Simple answer, they do not want a solution, they wish to sell off the NHS to their American friends, line their pockets, and care nothing for the people.

Keir Starmer and the 'Tory Two' Party has failed the workers by refusing to back them, calling for an end to strikes, and even claiming it is impossible to pay the NHS staff more.  This is no longer the Labour Party, this is a man desperate for the top job and he will say anything to get it.  It is time for Starmer to go, he could do nothing when the failing Boris was PM, he failed to remove Liz, and now fails with the latest failing PM, it is time for Keir to leave the show and allow a member of the Labour Party to take over.

World Cup Post Strikes

In spite of the postmen striking for the second day in a row I hobbled down to the Post Office and sent off two last packets, though that word does not cover the cheapness of the gifts.  The young lass smiled at me as always, though she was surrounded by two days worth of mail sacks full of items awaiting collection.  This was not helped by the man in the shop unloading a van's worth of items some of which were being dumped upon her.  

The strike continues, it appears to be having no effect on the Tory led privatised top bosses, the top man on £750,000 a year, who wish to amend the pensions, change the rota's, and altar every rule they can to save money and increase shareholders payout.  I doubt the workers, or indeed the railway workers and nurses also on strike for similar reasons will succeed.  The press is Tory controlled, the Labour Party (should it not change the name?) has distanced itself from the strikes in order to get the 'Middle England' vote, and it appears not a word about this was mentioned at PMQs!

Anyway, trudging back in the chilly sunshine I ate and slept.  Having cleaned some of the place today I was in danger of doing too much for my fat bulk.  With so much football taking time I have lots to do, and tomorrow will be another day of housework, possibly.          

Being the 1st day of December, the day I usually post my Christmas cards and parcels, I am a bit annoyed about the strikes.  Two items and one magazine are out there somewhere, no doubt being delivered soon, but I am becoming fretful regarding things sent and when they will arrive.  I support the workers, I understand how difficult life is for them at the moment, but it is a nuisance.   

So, I sit here writing cards, though all the posted ones are already awaiting posting, and these are mostly for the church people.  If I give these out early that forces them to present me with one!  No fool I!  

I know await the Costa Rica showdown.. In 45 minutes they will be playing their last game at the World Cup, against a desperate German side that are close to going out!  Costa will give their all, they may even score a goal, but can they possibly beat, and eliminate a German side?  We live in hope.

Cruel Monday

Life is cruel!  All morning I spent looking for the postman deivering my books.  

All morning!  It was only when I looked once again at the Royal Mail email I realised it said deliver 'Wednesday!  I could have been out, round Sainsburys and have something worth eating for tea, but no, I did not read the email properly!  This is happening more regularly to me now.

Then this afternoon I was again stuck indoors awaiting another book from Amazon.  I ordered two, one came via one courier, the other will arrive, probably via a different one, sometime soon. 

Having used up the last shirt in the cupboard I have also spent all day, and I mean all day, ironing the rest of the shirts piling up on the back of the couch.  Considering how old some of these are, a little tighter than they once were, a sensible rich person would dump them on a charity shop and buy new ones.  However, I am poor, as my report cards always used to say, and the cheaper option is ironing them and hoping new ones arrive (fat chance) at Christmas.

Now, book arrived and placed in appropriate Xmas pile while awaiting others, shirts, bar the ones I just could not be bothered doing, hanging in the cupboard shocked and neatish, I await the rest of the day. Nothing else has been done.  

Then tonight I must drag myself the hundred yards down the road to the Club for the Spam meeting.  I have to wait and not rush out as I expect one of my women to call regarding her visit to the doctors last Friday.  This could take an hour, wear out my ear and make me wish she could use emails!  Some forty or so people praying for several years have led to the dialysis she ought to have undertaken years ago not being required.  The doctors smile and nod when she explains why. Now, at 80 years of age, she is still continuing to live but they do not understand how she does so well in the circumstances.  Other problems remain, and while she has suffered for 30 years with things the Good Lord will not let her undergo this.  Quite something.

After that call I will need to be at the Club, just for the quietness.  It will not be empty but the people there will be quieter than her voice on a phone.

 

Let Joy Continue...

 Selfie

It was as I watched a train of 150 or so doubled up containers leave the bridge at Fort Madison, Iowa, last night that I realised something was amiss.  My picture was good but as I tried to log on to other places nothing worked.  All had gone down and the trains soon stopped running past the replica Fort Madison.  Internet connection was lost.  Hmm... Tsk!  Thought I, this is unfortunate.

I then attempted to reconnect to the web, nothing worked.  Three Browsers were tried, nothing worked.  What was wrong?  It appears the 'DNS' was not connecting.  The what?  The DNS.  I stared for a while, but this did not help.  

I connected the old laptop, one as slow as a Boris Johnson thought, and discovered this one connected well enough, indeed I then watched the football on it!  My better one would not however work.  

Having interrupted the football to search for an answer, and several were found but all appeared to me to be in a foreign 'Geek' language, so they were put back to bed, and I then joined them there.

This morning, covered in crumbs, I stumbled about in the laptop, prodding this and that and getting nowhere.  Eventually, by chance, I hit the 'Network' troubleshooter.  This found a fault, not the DNS one, and offered a 'Fix.'  

I took it, and it 'fixed!'  

What did it fix? No idea!  But it now works better than ever.

Old laptop put back, slowly, to bed, and I got on with life.

Great stuff, what could possibly go wrong now?  

 

Step forward Royal Mail!

Or at least Chris, the postman!

The books I ordered from Waterstones were due delivery today.  Strange to say they did not come from Waterstones themselves but one via 'Hatchards' and two via 'Foyles' bookshops.   They have been sitting in a London sorting office for a couple of days, rather than being sent on, and were due delivery today.

I know Chris, I worked with him long enough, ageing as the days pass, arrives around 1:30 each day.  I was here, I was sitting happily awaiting the prizes, I even had the door open to hear, and the bell is close by.

Around 1:35 an email arrived claiming no one was in.

Strapping my Claymore to my side I went downstairs and checked.  Two red cards awaited, one for me, one for next door.  

No bell had rung, Chris had gone and was nowhere in sight.

Grrrrrr!

This is the result of the Virus.  Chris, at his age, is very wary of the virus and has clearly decided not to ring the bell in case he catches it, instead he, like others, taps on the door thus meaning no-one inside can hear him.  He then wastes time scribbling the cards and chucking them through the door when he could be wasting time chatting.  He has not considered that other postmen, couriers etc, may 'tap' the door rather than use the bell thus endangering themselves from one another.  

He may get words next week when he is back on.

My books will be delayed until Friday, not counting sorting office incompetence, no way I can walk down there, and the old boy on Friday will ring the bell. 

Tsh!

Hogmanay

On his last album John Lennon had a song which included the words:-
"Life is what happens to you when you're making other plans."
Today the plan was simple, first off breakfast, then Tesco for last shop off year, then ash, shave, fall asleep.  Simple and straight forward.
So awakened by a coughing fit before seven am, forced up when half asleep, struggled around to Tesco by 10:30.  The place was busy, many kids wandering around putting things into mums trolley, mum swiftly returning them as she walks.  However as I left the house I noticed one of those Royal Mail 'You were out' type cards scrunched up in the letterbox left from yesterday.  The ratbag!  This meant that after Tesco I had to limp all the way down to the sorting office for this very important and unexpected parcel.

This parcel, unexpected but hoped to be something expensive, turns out to be a picture calendar of 'The Broons' that would not fit through the door.  Thirty five minutes of hobbling, a few minutes with a miserable fat bloke, too fat to deliver mail, and all for this!  Naturally my sister did not mention she was sending this, though she usually does send a calendar, but mention was there none, and I have just finished filling in all the birthdays on the cheap calendar I bought myself.  Bah!
Sadly this interrupted my planned day and now I suppose I will have to sit here and avoid doing the many things I planned.  What were they again...?  Ah, sleep, well maybe I will manage that one...

  Edinburgh Evening News

    
Hogmanay is the Edinburgh word for drunken hedonism.  Not that I would ever had anything to do with that.  In my day it meant gathering at a pub, then near midnight being where the  crowds gather, outside Tron Kirk then.  It appears that these days the Edinburgh toon cooncil wish to make it more appealing to foreigners, foreigners with money, so not only is the Hogmanay celebration packed with fireworks and famous bands the previous evening a torch light parade marches through the toon.  I the late 60's they did not allow us burning brands, the constabulary thought it unwise!  
Anyway, some think the present day show is merely to bring in foreign cash, which it is, and preparations for the event take precedent over everything else.  Even to the extent of cutting down the Christmas tree that stands at the top of the 'Mound' and replacing it with an advert for 'Johnnie Walker whisky.'  The tree ought to stand until the 6th of January but clearly money talks and the tree, with the Christmas spirit, goes with it.  A mistake I feel.
I will loiter in my bed tonight, possibly with John Barleycorn to keep me company, possibly asleep. The hedonistic days are long behind me, although at one shilling and eleven pence a pint (two shillings and  penny on Friday and Saturday nights) there was a lot less hedonism than there is today. 

The year is passing, let us go forwards...

  

Sorting Office Blues.

The staff at Royal Mail must remember me.  I can tell that by the way they hate me!
Yesterday I managed to find time to hobble down to the sorting office, little red card in hand, to collect the goods that were ''its too large for your letterbox."  He did not add "I was too stupid to read the note above the bell saying "BELL BUST: KNOCK LOUD" so I rang the bell and got no answer."  
'He' being a new young lad who looked lost while trying to find his way around the 'walk.'  Why he was on it and not the regular man was not made clear.
Anyway I dragged myself up to the counter enquiring as to the goods of which I had no knowledge.
"We don't have them" said the attractive blonde young lady working behind the anti-gunman/knifeman/violent person/weirdo screen.
"You must have them," said I "As you left me this card."
I thought this example of reality would aid her understanding.  
It did not.
It crossed my mind that few attractive young women become postmen and I wondered why she had not been there when I did the hard walks from this office with never a word of complaint?
I gave up this thought when a second thought crossed my mind, that thought muttered 'She was still in school when you worked here' and I let the matter drop. 
"It is not logged on our system," she explained, as if that was an answer.
I indicated that I had once worked in this place and I understood the efficiency of postmen therefore the system may not be telling the truth.  
My understanding of the situation was clear, the goods were in the building yet not on the system, "Why not go look at where they ought to be" said I using common sense and deep understanding of how postmen, especially relatively new ones, operate.
This brought an excuse re the 'new system and way of work' meant that if not on the system they could not be 'here,' that fooled no-one, especially me.  
In the end she photocopied the card, and promised to identify the eejit postman and make enquiries, she took my number, I had already taken hers, as it were.   

This morning I awoke full of joy and happiness as always.
Well OK, I awoke.
The call from the postman never came, this did not surprise me as I know how busy they can be early in the day and how passing the buck and avoiding contact with the public is always a good thing, however I planned to await the delivery from the man himself which would come in due course.
I therefore checked about 10:40 as the regular man often arrives at this time but nothing was to be seen but dust.
Later my neighbour arrived and I mistook his entrance for the man.  This neighbour has been back home in the Ivory Coast for around six weeks, "Some holiday," I said looking at the woman with him, "No, this is my wife." 
I congratulated the lucky man and wife (who sadly only speaks French) and wished them well.  The thought also crossed my mind that I will not go to the Ivory Coast on holiday if it means a French speaking wife returns with me!
I sat here awaiting the postman's knock (Insert joke here) and continued my half asleep ravings on this laptop.  
I heard no knock.
After lunch (around three in the afternoon) I was forced out to buy bread, here I found my mail with another wee red card with ''its too large for your letterbox" scrawled upon it, and the time of 12:20 indicated on the back of the card.
I was HERE at my desk at that time! 
At this point re-read the bit about notes re knocking on door and not ringing bell.  It's his neck that requires ringing !!!!
The brutes at the office never phoned but I suspect they have found said item, which I now know to be a large white hard envelope containing a calendar, and have passed it on to the man to deliver.  
So tomorrow I will trudge wearily once more down to the big fat bearded miserable lump who will be on duty instead of the attractive young lass to enquire if they have done their job properly!  
I may indicate displeasure, I may point out such incompetence is wrong, I may indicate that before privatisation things were better, I might mutter about knowing the manager (actually I don't and the new ones I know are rubbish), I certainly will resist indicating the name of the postman who once delivered to 'Walnut Grove' the mail that ought to have gone to 'Chestnut Grove.' That will remain confidential! 
Accidents will happen....