Post offices!

Not the most exciting title ever is it? But say those two words to me and steam starts to pump from my ears, I start to froth at the mouth and....well THAT'S surely exciting, in a sick and twisted kind of a way.

Time was when I had a parcelto post I would pop down the road, queue for a few minutes, bump into someone I knew, have a bit of a gossip and come home. Now I have to DRIVE to the nearest Post Office, park 5 minutes away because there's no space any nearer, queue up outside because there are so many people waiting and then when I'm finally served I have to listen to them recite all the services on offer - including deals on savings accounts which are apparently with an Icelandic Bank - before I can leave to run and find the car has been clamped.

But at least I can drive and I have a Post office to drive to - in my Mum's village the Post Office was the centre of the community, people went there to do their shopping, to get their papers to meet their friends, as well as to buy their stamps. Now it's closed down and the nearest one is a bus ride away.

It is wrong, wrong, wrong!

The only good thing is that I now have an excuse for all those parcels I keep forgetting to post. It's not a case of your cheque is in the post, it's more a case of your cheque is still sitting on my desk because it's raining and I can't be bothered to get off my fat bottom and queue in the rain to post it. Sorry!