Winter, Royal Military Canal nr. Winchelsea 14"x10" Watercolour
Humbug!
Well, someone has to
say it and this year it's my turn.
I wasn't in the best
of moods. It was the day before Christmas Eve and I was on my way to
the Post Office to pay the surcharge on a letter that couldn't be
delivered due to insufficient postage. Waiting to cross the road I
was unexpectedly hit from behind and consequently almost stepped into
the path of an approaching bus. Prepared to apologise for being in
the way (as only an Englishman can in such circumstances) I looked
round to see a young child wearing a Father Christmas hat and a
cotton wool beard, holding a gun. He had been so engrossed in his
running battle with another small Santa that he hadn't noticed
me. I walked on.
As I continued I had
the strange idea that the bus I'd just seen was being
driven by Santa Claus. The next minute another bus came along towards
me and, lo and behold, it was being driven by another Father
Christmas in full costume: hat, tunic, beard, everything. As pretty
much all the bus drivers in this part of the world are consistently
miserable and unhelpful, the sight of two dressed in outfits
inextricably connected with happiness, jollity and fun, jarred - it looked
wrong - really wrong. I don't want to see a bus driven by a grumpy
b*****d dressed as Santa – ever – and I really don't want to see
more than one bus driven by him or her - it's doubly wrong. I passed
several more Father Christmases en route – mostly out shopping or
selling the Big Issue – so by the time I arrived at the post office
my mood hadn't lightened at all.
I've mentioned the
grumpiness of the local bus drivers but they are as nothing compared
to the staff at the post office. They are so intimidating that there
have been a couple of times when I was sorely tempted to have a
stiff drink before visiting the post office. It can be a harrowing
experience especially if the poor customer wants anything out of the
ordinary such as postage for an unusually shaped parcel; postage to
any country outside the UK; help completing an official form; etc. -
basically anything other than buying a first class stamp. The only
time they smile is when my innocent looking envelope touches the
sides of the impossibly narrow slot used to decide between merely
expensive or ludicrously extortionate postage. I don't have a drink,
of course, because the golden rule of post office negotiation is to
keep a clear head and a poker face.
Imagine my dismay as
I walked in the door and saw that every member of staff was in
costume. Two Santas and one elf. Not only jolly hats and costumes but
also full make-up and probably boots to boot. Luckily I didn't have
to speak. They took one look at the card instructing me to attend the
local post office and pay the excess postage (plus handling charge)
and sent me up the road to the sorting office.
I was charged £2
excess postage on the letter which was unstamped and addressed to
'The Householder'. It was from a local estate agent wishing me
'Season's Greetings' and asking if I wanted to sell my house. They
will shortly be getting a similarly unstamped and oversized letter
from me wishing them a Happy New Year.
Did I mention it was
raining?
Happy Holidays!
