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?

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.  

Up and Down all Day...

The intention was to sit and be at ease today, cleaning a wee bit and snoozing a lot.  Of course I found no bread, apart from a crust that was turning green.  This meant a walk to Sainsburys.  This was so enjoyable (Bah!) that I continued out again to Tesco for the things Sainsburys did not have.  

I sat down and rested.

I awaited the postman bringing the package not left on Tuesday.  He usually arrives about 11:30, unlike Chris who usually arrives about 12:30.  Why Chris chose to come early on Tueasday when he had my packet I know not.  So, I poured out another mug of tea, took off the shoes, lay back and 'Ding Dong - Ding Dong!' the postman arrived nearly 40 minutes early!  What is the matter with these men?  His day was brightened by my slowness in opening the door, this allowed him to practice campanology on the bells again.  It has been a slow week for postmen it appears.  I wonder why?  People going back to work?  People visiting long forgotten friends?  People not bothering to post their work mail?  Parcels are still going strong surely? 

I dumped the rubbish in the wheelie bin while I got shot of the postman, laughing as he went.  I returned to tepid tea.

 

 

Just after I finished lunch, had my siesta and returned looking for an excuse to avoid cleaning the loo and I found an email from EoN.  This demanded a meter reading as it cost too much for them to employ people to read the meter themselves.  The grasping nature of energy companies could fill many a post.  

I was annoyed as it means clambering downstairs, out, round the back, clambering unsteadily down the crumbling stairs into the basement, and brushing aside the spiders webs to read the meter.

I should point out the stairs are not crumbling, I am! 

This I did, brushing aside with a smile the downstairs neighbour as she was going out (Mercedes?  How much do they earn?).  Meter read, disused spiders webs brushed off and a scuttle back up the stairs, indoors,  then up the other stairs (for the third time today) and insert the numbers on the Eon page.

One number was wrong!

I had scribbled down the incorrect number!

"Aaaaaaaarrrrrggghh!"  said I.

This meant once again down the stairs, round the back, down the grubby stairs, read, correctly, the meter I have read dozens of times before, then crawl upstairs, indoors, up the other stairs, (for the fourth time today) enter the 'correct' number in the overcharging, crooked gangsters web page and relax.

Some time later they inform me that I ought to be paying more monthly for my own good!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

I believe these prices are all shooting up anyway this month.  I do not foresee the shareholders suffering this year. 

'Angels' on the Fence

As I sauntered out towards St P's and the sorting office this morning I noticed these 'angels' on the fence opposite.  It appears to be the thing these days for women's groups to knit such items for Christmas, sometimes decorating pillar boxes and other street furniture in an attempt to promote 'good feelings.'  It is happening in many places and was seen last year also if I remember right.  There are one or two groups who make use of our hall on occasions to sit and knit, croquet, spin and gossip for a few hours and occasionally put on a display.  I suspect they have a hand in this.

 
The sun took some time before it beat off the cloud cover, making this chopped down tree stand somewhat bare against the sky.  I would have had more pics but I was carrying cards to the church on my way and carrying a packet back from the sorting office afterwards.  The postie woman claims she knocked but I never heard her, she would not lie but she finds it difficult to hammer the door, the other man who does this round manages that well!  So I had to walk down not knowing what I would find and all I found was 'Nutmeg' a Scottish football magazine!  This thick item is too thick to bend and will not go through so that meant walking for a mile or two just for this.  I might get round to reading it eventually, so far I have three book tokens to make use off, and I am smiling as I think there is one more on the way.  

I failed to take the angel home, who knows where that might lead?  Instead I was satisfied with photos and notice many have already made homes for themselves, the brightly coloured ones first of course.  I will be out in town tomorrow (twice! Such excitement!) and who knows what these wimmen will have done elsewhere?  

  
Jeremy is in trouble apparently for calling Theresa 'Stupid!'  Quite why this is bad I fail to comprehend, are we not allowed to be honest?  On top of this manufactured row the Speaker himself was confronted by (a Tory) female MP claiming he had called her 'stupid.'  How strange that such an attitude can be found in the House while yesterday a Scots MP was told to 'Go back to your own country' by Nicholas Soames (Churchill's grandson) and yet this was not considered racism and dealt with by the speaker.  What is more serious, racism or speaking the truth?

At least we are not the US...

Walk?

This is a story of a postman who used to walk around the villages north of the town.  He retired in 1833 having felt the job was beginning to get too much for him.  I am not surprised! 
"From May 1803, at 4 days a week till Oct1811, then until 1833 at 6 days a week, absent but 5 days with permission, 5 off sick. He walked 26 miles a day round the villages for 8,673 days, all 225,498 miles. Now 54 feeling himself declining and not equal to the task he retires."
Samuel Wyatt, walked from Braintree to Rayne, Saling, Bardfield, Finchingfield, and Weathersfield.  Simple enough today in the days of the motor car polluting the air but this walk does not take into account the state of the road, mostly mud tracks, nor does it mention the weather, hot in summer freezing cold and or wet in winter.  In between the villages and houses here and there would be little shelter during a storm.  Of course the villages were less well populated and the majority were if not in shops or skilled trade working on the farm and the amount of letters and parcels would therefore not be great.  However he still had to do the walking, up hill and down slope, day after day.  
I am sure he was fed and watered along the way, there are many pubs he had to visit and summer time must have seen him spend a penny or two in those places, however I suspect anything he drank there may be free and a jolly good place to rest awhile.
Today such places are divided between several postmen, each with his own van and with less chance of drinking time between villages.  One village a few years ago saw the postman walk ten miles around the village and the houses slightly apart, another that I delivered to took the postman in days gone by one bag and a long walk.  When I done that walk it took four heavy bags of around 20 kilos and today that also is done by van, the villages grow as fast as the towns.
This postman's job has similar conditions to many of that time, and he probably thought he was doing well as he was outside and master of his own work to some extent.  Those in factories would work 12 hour days, men, women and child, for a few shillings a week.  Not all employers were careful about their employees and keeping a job was not always easy.  Yet 96 or more hours a week was a common sight right up to near the end of the 19th century, around the world this is still a common sight in some places.
After he retired he got a certificate for good behaviour and as a memento, nothing is said about a reward.  I wonder what he did after that?  Did it involve walking?  He retired at 54 from the GPO as it then was and how long did he live afterwards?  He must have retained fitness for some time and I wish I knew more about him.  I had a quick search but he does not appear to have been born or died!  At least the post got through.

 

Gifts, Postmen

I thought Christmas was over.
I had obtained all I needed but then I must get something for the girls at work, something cheap appropriate.  However if I buy them expensive (reduced) chocolates we find one doesn't eat them, if I buy wine (cheap) two don't drink) if I buy flowers their partners get anxious (I thought about packets of seed and let them grow them themselves) so it is getting difficult.
There is also a lack of shops.
The best place to look for appropriate items would be in the museum shop!  We have the best selection of such goods in town, though the opposition is weak.  However that would not do.
I may have to travel tomorrow into one of the big towns, full of people, to search for odd items that fit each one.  Good grief I thought I had finished this ages ago!
Life is not fair!

This man visited me today with three big boxes.
This makes a change as he usually just put a card through the door.  He has never liked me since I left because of my knees.  After that the postman's work changed for the worse and he, who rarely smiled, smiled less as he saw me lazing about while he had lost his easy job and had a hard one for a change.  In fact I would rather have worked on but my knees refused, he works on, trapped by women and children, while I am at ease, in his view.  The sad thing was while some had a lot to do this postie had an easy time, the changes resulting from new management meant he lost his favoured status and was treated like the rest of us.  He and one or two others have not yet got over this.
Hee hee!

The Friday Post

Old Bikes

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No Post Today!

No post today, no bills, no junk, no final demands, no nothing!
This is very disappointing! There is nothing worse than no mail thudding onto your carpet early in the morning. There is nothing better (OK, I lie!) than an exciting letter containing good news of one sort or another making the world appear a better place. I realise, and how, that in the UK 70% of the bulging postbag that wears down the postman's shoulder, and his morale, is of course junk mail! Junk mail to a postie consists of the routine bills, adverts, charity bumf and bank statements that, while useful in some cases, can never be regarded as exciting.

Twice during my tenure as a postman I was informed a woman, always a woman, was on the phone asking why she had not had any mail for three or four days. On both occasions I took a perverse delight in informing the delightful office lass that there was a reason for this, no one liked her! "She has no mail because no one wants to write to her," I said somewhat sarcastically. "The gas board don't send her a bill, neither does the electric people, and charity adverts avoid her like the plague they wish to cure in an African backwater." I considered her situation, checked the frame, now overflowing with post I had to deliver in spite of my condition, "Aaaand she is getting NOTHING today again! Not even junk mail as I will with hold it!"

You see both women were suspicious that the postman was eating their mail. None had arrived for a few days and clearly the postman was putting it through another door, stealing the cash included in birthday cards, and chucking what was left in the nearest skip! It never crossed their heads that not one person junk or otherwise was attempting to contact them. it was the posties fault, it always is. Funnily enough when I get no post for a few days I begin t wonder what is going on.

Now I confess to putting mail through the wrong door, it happens, and most folk are good enough to shove it back at you - sometimes in a full and frank manner! With between one or two thousand letters some days it is understandable that mistakes are made, but they shouldn't be! The best mistake was ringing a woman's doorbell as I needed a signature for a recorded letter, and then shoving it through the door at the same time! She understood my stupidity! I sometimes miss that job, it was fun, the folks were good and it gave me money as well as pains in the knee. Few of them miss me.

Letters get a welcome no other source of communication can equal. If it comes as a surprise all the better, and if it is sent to someone lonely, like an older person unable to get around much, it is sometimes the only event in their day. I know older folks deliberately send of for junk mail as it is something to look forward to each day! When I went south, in the days before cheap phones or mobiles, I was told send your mother a postcard every so often. She will think you care and be happy knowing you are all right. Also there is not much you can say, and what you have been doing is not what she wants to hear anyway! This is still a cheap and effective way to keep in touch. However I knew one lass who sent her mother an eight or more page letter every week, and received the same in reply! What on earth was there to say? Women amaze me sometimes.

The letter box, one of thousands around the country, has the letters GR on the front. It is the habit to place the sovereigns initials there to indicate this is 'Royal Mail.' Whether the present queen ever actually delivers any herself I cannot say. I suppose that is a state secret. In 1953 the arrogant English naturally welcomed Lizzy to the throne by placing ERII on the front of the box and on all the vans etc. Typically they erected one of these in Edinburgh and pretended it was OK. Now it doesn't take a genius to realise that Scotland, unlike the oppressive English, has never had an 'Elizabeth' as queen. Therefore offence, and action, was taken. The 'Scottish Patriots,' a group determined Scotland should be recognised for what it is, shoved a stick ( a small one) of gelignite inside the box and blew it up. Naturally this was done without upsetting anyone, Craigmiller was a newly built area then and warnings were issued. However the police could not find anyone responsible for this act. This it must be said was long before IRA violence became popular, and no 'terrorism' as seen today was ever a threat. From that moment on all Royal Mail items in Scotland bore the crest ER, without the II. Quite right too!

May something nice drop through your letterbox in the morning!

Health & Safety

After rising from my pit this morning I cleared the condensation from the window and gazed blearily into the darkness. Wind and rain hurtled by, cars splashed through the puddles and through the mirk on the other side of the road occasional townsfolk could be seen, walking bent forward, into the storm. For a moment I thought I was back in Edinburgh and July had arrived, however the man on the TV put me right. "Weathers rotten, let's see how it gets worse," he muttered. It will, storms tonight along the north west and rain and cold for several more days ahead. Goody, just what I wanted!

After a breakfast of yesterdays leftovers the gray clouds lightened somewhat and I noticed a man jogging along the footpath.There are one or two who indulge in this ridiculous exercise at the weekends, usually lasting only a couple of weeks. One lass has however been running in a mile long circle for some time now. I did not notice her today however she must be very much fitter than I was when playing football - the proper kind - although of course running was never my game. I played in goal and that was sufficient running around for me I can tell you. Those who think running fifty yards upfield and forty back, then across the pitch and back again is fun are beyond my comprehension. As for folk who do marathons, well!

Anyway I digress, this was not about daft folk attempting to get fit or kill themselves by jogging, it was about the thing on the fellows back. There he was, in light coloured shorts and sweatshirt, wearing a luminous light green hi-vis vest! What for? He was running on the pavement, and few folk at that time of the morning drive on the pavements around here. This brought to mind how needless some of these Health & Safety ideas are today. It is one thing to be safety conscious but another to be either stupid or neurotic about it. Imagine the pilot on that plane landing in the Hudson river being neurotic and overly health and safety conscious? No one would have survived! Calmness and good training, plus prayer probably, got them out! A neurotic stewardess yelling as water lapped around her ankles would have been just what those folks required at that time!

When I was working in yards full of lorries it was wise to wear such a vest. Clearly the driver ought to be able to see you but bad light and other hazards meant safety was important. The woman who walked past me on Monday wearing one may have been neurotic or plain daft I am not sure, but she appeared to be merely going shopping! Maybe the trolleys in the Supermarket run into her too often. I have news for you lass, that will not stop them! One day at Royal Mail the young manager told me off because my orange jacket was a bit worn. "It's dangerous out there on the roads," he said," You don't want to get knocked of your bike!" I had been working for forty years and never knew the roads could be dangerous! I was so glad he was there!

Of course the real reason for the jackets worn by every utility worker, van driver and half the population is not Health & Safety but insurance! No insurance company will pay out if you have not worn the Hi-Vis jacket. Indeed the helmet and the right footwear are also important here. Royal Mail drivers who wear trainers always carry a pair of official shoes in the van - just in case they have an accident! The cry is not "Ambulance," but "Change my shoes quick!" The insurance folk (as Crotchety will tell you) do not like paying out cash! The lack of a hi-vis jacket loses the company an insurance pay out, that is why they, plus helmets, need to be worn along with all the other paraphernalia. Is it all necessary? Sometimes, but not always, common sense and keeping your eyes open are more important. This must do for jogging surely?

Royal mail of course have also got other management problems. The chap in the picture above was sent home for wearing 'Nike' shorts! RM insist on their own uniform, which is fair enough, but to have the police lead him from the office appears a bit over the top. It is clear from the report that there is much more to this than meets the eye. Lazy postmen, bad management, trouble makers on both sides, but who is in the right? Neither I would imagine. However it makes for a typical 'Daily Mail' story. It also supplies a picture of postmen today!

Weather Girls

The United Kingdom, a you know, has a reputation for discussing the weather more often than is really necessary. A frequent opener of conversation is the state of the weather, usually involving a great degree of surprise that in January the weather is awful! It never fails to amaze me that people are often stunned that snow and gales should cause traffic disruption and be found knocking down trees. Possibly during the few thousand years of habitiation of this earthly paradise the Atlantic waves crashing against the coast and eroding the hard rock found there has not been observed. Maybe the loss of many East Anglian towns caused by the sea removing the land on which they were built has gone unreported in some parts, but certainly not in East Anglia! It is winter therefore it will rain, the temprature will drop, and the wind will blow making everything worse. That is how it usually happens, but when it does, shock! Obviously the further north we go the worse the climate becomes, those living on the West Cost of Scotland the the North West of England being well aware that two days out of three 'might be wet.' A good summer equals one day in three being sodden and the sky being a naval gray as opposed to a deep gloomy immitation dark night. How do we know when the seasons change? With the road from Tomintoul we find one way to recognise winter has arrived, when it becomes blocked by snow that is the start. However this may be slightly defective as this often occurs in August! For those further south the end of the summer holidays and shops being stuffed full of Christmas gear warns of winters approach. Mind you that could brng us back to August again.

Foretelling the weather has long been an occupation of this island race. Farmers, shepherds, fishermen were from the earliest times always watchful of the sky for the signs of changes in the environment around them. World wide folks watched for 'Red sky at night, shepherds delight,' even Jesus mentioned this, and such simple signs would be recognised by anyone living in the country. Animals behaviour often indicated weather patterns changing, and fishermen noting the oceans which so easily took their lives away were always alert for danger indicators. Not so today. Today we have a simpler, and more attractive, indication of how the heavens will affect us, weather girls! Yes indeed, we no longer need to stare at the sky each evening hoping for deep pink clouds, nor do farners have to rise early and wonder of their cows are sleeping standing up or lying down, oh no, today we confront a pretty young thing, usually blonde, lying in her teeth!

Liars? These pretty wee lassies lie?Oh yes they do!
Imagine a postman watching the 'Anglian News' one evening. Along comes the weather girl, attractive, smiling, personable, and informs him that there "May be one or two showers early on, ut nothing to wrooy about." Next morning he sets of to work dressed appropriatly, sorts the mail and heads of to commence delivery. As he cycles out of the office a few spots of rain appear, he grunts and continues reassured that these passing drops will soon fade.Wrong! Four and a half hours later he returns, soaked through to the bone, his bags sodden, the mail turned into paper mache and as he enters the building the manager, coffee cup I hand looks skywards and mutters, "Good, it's clearing up. I'm glad as I'm of home now" The postmans response earns him an official warning. Why do these weather girls use the word 'shower' when they mean 'downpour?' Is it because they are female, or just because they specialise in cruelty?

Weather forecasting today is a highly technical operation. Girls like the one above are not just your Scandinavian bint on the make but highly educated clever wee things. The girls who appear on Anglia share the competent yet relaxed image of the programme, and image that leaves it head and shoulders (which their hairy probably doesn't need) ahead of the BBC. 'Look East.' is a show staffed by wax dummies and the weather girl there, however competent, makes Mrs Beckham look fat. Who can truly put faith in the advice of a stick insect I ask you? Now however, as I look at the sodden picture outside my window I can see the results of yesterdays forecast actually being proved right, it is belting down. Tomorrow they say snow from the north, and then the bitch smiles sweetly! Snow! What is there to smile about? Right then, if that's the case I had better go back to bed and cancel all my appointments.

Clinically Obese - or Just FAT?

There is yet another report by someone or other informing us we will all be 'Clinically Obese' by 2050. This is not true, I will be 99 by then and I can assure you few men that age are obese! When I say '99' I mean years of age, I do not imply that I will have become some sort of ice cream and be wandering around with a 'Cadburys Flake' stuck in my head! However they have a point here the nation is obese, and there are many reasons for this. To this weeks researchers the 'environment' plays a part. From what I heard this morning they imply we sit around too much, watching TV, driving, lounging at work, or just being a slob. They have a point! Less stress appears to be put on the food we eat, and the implication I picked up is that there is little we can do about this. I beg to differ. I get the impression that we will, as a nation, do anything to avoid personal responsibility. Our genes make us predisposed to violence, crime, laziness, obesity, and anything else we take a fancy to. Our free will and personal choice to heave half a brick at a referee, or make off with someones wallet is irrelevant it seems. Can this be right?

The idea of changing words to make us feel better is an old one now. It goes back thirty or so years and, as you might expect, we picked it up from the United States of America. We began by changing the word 'scafe' or 'Dustbin men' to 'Cleansing Operatives. Of course by privatising that 'service' we stopped six men working half a day on a lorry and now two or three work half a day, that's progress! Other words changed also, 'secretary' was not good enough, so 'personal assistant' became the norm (and cost more for doing the same). In hospitals the term 'portering Services Operator' replaced the 'Hoi yew!' of my day, and so it goes on. Today the media informs us that we are 'Obese' or even 'Clinically Obese' as it sounds medical and more adult. This is like calling 'Santa Claus,' 'Father Christmas' because that too sounds adult, but in the end is just as stupid. Tell the kids to believe in a fat (sorry, obese) man in a red suit leaving something for nothing but ignore Jesus leaving Heaven and spending his life in sinless perfection before dying or your sin filled nature, oh no that's taking it a bit far eh? yes indeed let us tell the truth, we are not 'Obese,' we are 'FAT!' Yes 'FAT!' Not that is different you see. While 'obese' sounds clinical and even medical, 'fat' is just ugly! Large masses of greed stored in a dirty big pile, usually around the gut in men, leaving those who choose to wear their football shirts looking more than ridiculous, and leaving lumpy women pangs of guilt they will no doubt blame on others, that is 'men' or 'society!' Fat is ugly, I know, I have it! It is disgusting. Standing naked in front of the mirror I swear I could hear someone cry "Captain Ahab! Captain Ahab! There she blows!"

So, why are we 'FAT?' There are several reasons. We eat too much, do not exercise enough, and, well that's it really! Living in a wealthy country we become used to an easy life. The expectation is to have the best we can afford and eat what we like. The worship of Mammon has a downside, we encourage selfishness in ourselves and those around us, the life of ease and plenty is seen as 'the good life' and we end up stuffed but not necessarily happy. The food we eat is all to often pre-cooked. Chilled foods come, not just ready to heat and eat, but full of preservatives that add to the bulge that hangs in front of us. Food manufacturers are prone to add elements that give such meals 'morishness' and we naturally want more! More fool us.
Lifestyles lead us to laziness, and wealth enables a call to the 'takeaway' rather than spending time actually cooking for ourselves. Personally I hate the bother of cooking, after all, is that not what a woman was made for? It takes time to plan, shop, peel, scrape and prepare so that those who benefit can sit back, well nourished and forget to thank the cook for her work. But hey, that's normal life isn't it? That used to be before middle class women began to tell working women they should get a 'career.' Actually many working class women already had a job, and still do, it was the middle classes who thought writing for magazines or sitting behind desks telling others what to do was actually a career. It wasn't, it still isn't. However women work, children are all too often fed junk, grow up fat because mum, and dad, are couch potatoes, and will not take the time to look after themselves let alone the kids. It must be said there are many slim, good looking women who do just that,many working at the same time, but society today is stuffed full of laziness. I am a prime example.

Today I walked to the Tesco on the edge of town. Not the longest walk, but far enough for me. This was part of my exercise programme, (having a doctor refer to you not as 'obese' but as 'fat slob' is an encouragement to this) and was accompanied by lots of sunshine, lovely indeed. As I strolled along I came across many unhappy postmen struggling to recover, financially and practically, from the recent dispute. How nice to see, that both going towards Tesco and on the way back, that they had not forgotten me. Vigorous greetings met me in both directions. This reminded me of the difficulty and danger faced by posties today. The letterboxes often have dangerous springs which catch fingers, sharp points on these cause injury, and of course dogs, and sometimes cats, sit quietly behind the door waiting to pounce on any finger shoved through the gap. I was reminded of this as I noticed just how many of these fellows of mine had fingers missing as they greeted me eagerly. I suppose at least they have lost a few ounces in weight this way eh?

The Morning Cycle Ride

Shrouded in gray damp mist I wandered off on my morning 'get fit' cycle ride. This consists of struggling along being overtaken by schoolkids on BMX bikes designed for jumping over skate board ramps, and old folks with zimmer frames meandering past me as I come to the hilly bits. However I ignored their comments as well as I ignored the pain in my knees. The ides of cycling was to provide stamina, long lost while looking for work (unsuccessfully so far), but all it does is revive the aches left from the postie job! Now I'm not one to complain but when I feel worse after the ride than before I feel something may be amiss!

Today I ventured along quite happily around the old postal round. Because of the changes to the postal routine introduced by the madmen who now run Royal Mail very few postmen were to be seen. The time changes have altered everything and I suspect the new, man on my old round would be far from ready to begin by the time I creaked past. Eventually postmen will work from 7-3, this means deliveries on most rounds will not appear till around 9 am or later. Still, folk complain when they strike but not about the loss of the service element nor the increase in prices which, soon to be, privatisation will bring. What a shame change could not be brought by sensible management!

But I digress again. I find I often digress these days, I am not sure if it is Alzheimer's or just being 56 years old that does it. They say that after fifty you spend an hour a day 'just looking for things,' I agree! Back to the bike. I pushed it along at a marvellous speed, for me, and noted the changes a year brings. The round covered a 'rough' area and some quite nice streets, although I always liked the folks there and enjoyed the work. Some folks have moved on, possibly more have failed to keep up the payments on the house bought from the council, the 'Right to Buy' idea being one of the stupidest of Thatchers reign. I noticed the fellow from No 6 must have moved, there was no broken windows to be seen, of course he could be inside again. The old woman who used to annoy me so much must have died, she would never have allowed them to knock down the fence so they could park the car in the lawn, and the Thomson's seem to have moved. She did not like me as she always complained of getting mail for next door by mistake. When I took over this occurred again, and she was real unhappy. The folks next door were not the nicest you see, and she worried they had her mail, an easy mistake a 6 and an 8 looking similar to a postman in bad light. Naturally I informed her that it was not me but the other chap and I would look out for her. Next day I gave her No 8s by mistake! How do you spell wrath?
However even after a year away other folks did remember me, and that is always nice is it not, it means I have made a mark in their lives, the bricks however all missed.

Another small point I noticed today was the Englishman and his approach to the weather. As the day started murky and misty, as the weather forecast told us it would slowly clear, and quickly come back again, how does the average Englishman dress? In shorts and T-shirt of course! He struts about in shorts designed for Greece, with his sunglasses balanced on his shaven head, designer polo shirt or grubby T-shirt with 'I'm with Stupid' scrawled across it, and thinks he looks cool! He must be, every other person you meet has a warm jacket of some sort on! Just because the sun is shining and the sky is blue does not mean it is warm. The sun is shining and the sky is clear and very blue at the South Pole but it is 40 degrees below! Tsk!

Eleven Years In This Flat

Eleven years to the day when I moved in to this flat. What a change from the London place. It took me a while to get used to this, although the couple downstairs with loud music for the first few days made it difficult. However they moved out, and as Easter Monday came upon us immediately, and I had to use those wee cards to pay for electricity which I did not have, I soon felt at home , cold, hungry and penny scraping. It was lonely, boring and I was not too happy. However, one day a few weeks later, I walked down 'The Avenue' and noticed the blue sky, birds singing and decided it was better than London after all.

Times of unemployment, which went on and on, temp work, packing work and later the Royal Mail job followed. Now the circle is complete as I am broke and unemployed again. Good things did occur. Nina being the best. What a wonderful woman she is. I thought she was ideal for me in every way, except regarding God. Her opinions were different. However she made me feel like a man, taught me about loving someone, and being loved, and I miss her still. No woman can replace her, and let's face it, none have wanted to.

So, eleven years on I find myself broke, unemployed, with no chance baby. Lonely for a woman, without a church to be involved in, no friends, no jobs, and staring bankruptcy in the face, if I can afford it. Are you depressed yet? Neither am I! I believe God still loves me. I just wish he would show me the way out of this mess. Happy anniversary........

Exercise

OK so the weighing machine groaned when I stood on it, and the plastic cover on the dial flew off, but that does NOT make me fat! Anybody who is out of work and spending too much time sitting at a broken computer could easily put weight on. Especially when it rains outside, or the neighbours complain about the noise up above them. This hinders exercise you must understand.
However, when said machine creaked a wee bit and the dial read 16 and a half stone (that's 231 lbs to the uneducated) I decided something must be done.
So it was out on the bike, along the flat streets a couple of days, and up the old railway line yesterday. Would do that more often if those dog walkers waited until I passed. You have no idea how many pooches wait until you cycle up to them then meander in front of you! Today I not only went down the flat road, and the long way round, I also walked for a while in the sunshine.

Now I realise just how unfit I have become. Puffing and panting in a way I did not do four years ago! Working for Royal Mail did my knees no good at all. I used to go long walks but now struggle after half an hour. Losing weight will help, but I wonder if the knees will ever be the same? The arthritis under the right knee won't help, but that also makes me walk at an angle. This is something that is getting worse. I came across Nina a few weeks ago and she was shocked at the change. That was worrying. However, with the cycling and walking, with the weights I lift and the other exercises I reckon I will lose the fat stomach, feel better, think better also, or give up and be a slob! Things must change. getting a job, with the routine etc that goes with it would help, and being healthier might help me get a job. What kind of work needs fat slobs.

And when were are on the subject, why do folks use the word 'obese' in the media when they refer to fat folk? Are they ashamed? Or is 'fat' not educated enough? pretentious misuse of words by the media folk I guess. I am heading for 'fat,' and that in the big belly area at that. Not 'obese,' just 'fat,' and it's disgusting!

Rainy Day Off

I can see numbers of round ripples I the puddles caused by the rain which teems down this morning. This fills me with a sense of joy. Why? Because it's my day off! While I am sitting here, drinking coffee, snoozing, reading or whatever, Big Rab is wandering the streets cursing the weather and pushing bundles of paper mache through peoples doors. A postmans life is not a happy one during inclement weather! Still, I'm all right Jock! When the posties begin to appear I will go to the window and wave as they pass.
They always wave back.............

Tired

How come I am always tired?
I thought it was just work, it's too physical, and being on my feet or using a bike all day is wearing me out. But add to that the virus (or is it 'virii?) that seem never ending and I think I have the reason!
I hoped this week off would help but so far no good. The thing is the brain is more tired than the body. This makes me more irritable than normal, and that is normal, and I just have not got the energy to bother or care any more.
What is the answer? Change jobs, well, with the condition of my knee that may happen anyway, but to what? I am getting old, I know nothing, and am discovering just how dumb I have always been! This has not been good for me I can tell you!
Still, I had better go and eat some foul concoction and see if it gives any sign of revival, fish maybe, but I doubt it.
Gloomy? Me? No, this is me positive mate!

Fridays Highlight

The highlight on Friday was the six year old who came out to me from number 9 and gave me a Cadbury's Easter Egg. One of the famous little ones that nobody can resist. 'Thanks for delivering our post,' she said. Then ran back indoors. I often speak to those at that house, and she usually opens the door once the mail has gone in, and shouts 'Thank you,' as I move on. Made my day that. Lovely!

Cycling Idiot

Royal Mail bikes as you know are old, but stout beasts. On the front they have that nice little basket to hold the huge bag of mail the postie will endevour to deliver that day. This is a fine idea.
However, at the end of the day the postman has several of these bedraggled red bags on his bike. 'So?' You might ask, but probably will not bother asking, as you are not reading this are you? Anyway, at the end of the day the postman has too many bags on the front of his bike. There is little in them, except packets folk are to pig ignorant to be in when they arrive, and 'signed for' letters, and the occasional missort, which we will not mention as they are not supposed to happen. So, the man has five bags on his bike. A handfull of light letters in the topmost bag, and heads for home.
Home is the sorting office, you know, the one at the bottom of the hill. All he has to do is drift down the hill and round the bend (something he knows all about going around I can tell you) and up into the bike shed. Simple. Only an idiot could fail to accomplish this simple, straightforward chore.
Ah yes, there is one thing. The wind.
See, as you go forward the air pressure around you meets you. On the bike this 'wind' is much more noticeable and can hold you back. Indeed, when going downhill, as our hero has to, means he meets a bit more of this air coming up to meet him. This means the topmost bag, you know, the light one with not much in it, tends to rise of the basket and fly up into the air.
Simple again. Put out a hand and push it back down. Easy.
Well, yes. But, if the bag begins to float to the postmans left side, and a taxi is right behind him at the time, and he is negotiating an obstacle, and he then loses control of the bike and the front wheel juts against the kerb, then what?
Then I can humbly tell you, he loses it altogether!
He stops pushing the floating bag, sticks a foot out towards the ground, lets go the bag, grabs the handlebars, far too late, feels the bike going from under him and heads for a meeting with the pavement. That's what!
Why is it he asks afterwards, that the taxi does not stop, GIT! But the next car does, enquiring after your health, and wondering if the taxi had hit you. Again I ask why is it that behind him are several other cars, each occupied by men sneering with straight faces and leaving you feeling embarrassed and with a bruise on the shin?
I don't know, but I am that man. Where's the germoline eh?

Essex the driest county?

When I landed here ten years ago I was informed that this was the driest county in England. Note, that is England, and not the UK as a whole. It is not possible for there to be a dry county anywhere in Scotland, Wales or Northern Ireland! Being in the South East, and further East than any other part of the mainland, means that the winds, mostly from the West, bring the rain in from the Atlantic and deposit it cheerily on everyone else.
This I have to say, I don't mind in the least!

However, along with the other lie, the one that tells you how flat Essex is, I have discovered, especially since becoming a postman, that it rains quite a lot in Essex! Not only does this town have several hills far too steep for my liking, but there has been occasions when attempting to cycle up them with a heavy bag in a downpour has made me wonder at the aridity of the region.
I can go so far as to say that only a year or two ago they were talking of how wet it was, and how could this be? People blamed global warming! Somewhat earlier, in the first year or two since my arrival, the weather had been very hot and dry. People blamed global warming!
Since becoming a postman, the English around me have blamed me, because 'You are used to this sort of thing!' I am not actually! I have spent more time here than in Edinburgh! And even if I was, I still dislike coming home with boots squelching, and having my outfit drying all around the house. Worse is the morning after when nothing is completely dry.

Today another county has announced a hosepipe ban. The water folk have asked people to shower instead of bath, and to use water carefully. They themselves are going to be kind enough to attempt to stop the water leaks which account for a third of all lost water.
A THIRD! A third of water is lost throughout leaks!
May I suggest a lowering of profits while these anomalies are attended to!

Meanwhile Essex may have to have such a ban imposed, not that it will affect me, I have no garden, just a couple of dying plants here on the window. I suppose I could do my bit to save water by sharing a bath with someone, that would help. Wanted, female for back scrubbing, any takers?

Work

The problem with work, is work! I can cope with all sorts of interesting stuff, but having to spend a day in drudgery and effort is not what I feel made for. I am much more of a 'Let's do it later/ let them do it' type. Still, it brings in the cash, and today I met friendly kind people who appreciate what I am doing for them. That's nice, makes it worthwhile.