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The collected opinions of an august and aristocratic personage who, despite her body having succumbed to the ravages of time, yet retains the keen intellect, mordant wit and utter want of tact for which she was so universally lauded in her younger days. Being of a generation unequal to the mysterious demands of the computing device, Lady Bracknell relies on the good offices of her Editor for assistance with the technological aspects of her journal.

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Location: Bracknell Towers

Friday, December 15, 2006

Stop, oh yes, wait a minute Mr Postman

The relief postman (decidedly less personable than Lady Bracknell's regular postman) rang the doorbell of Bracknell Towers at about 11.30 this morning.

Disappointed in his apparent objective of ringing the bell and dashing immediately away by the unmistakable sound of an elderly aristocrat limping slowly down a flight of stone stairs whilst jingling a set of keys (Lady Bracknell has, over the years, developed a particularly audible jingle for precisely this purpose), he chose to vent his irritation at the delay by folding her ladyship's Christmas cards in half so that he could squeeze them through her rather narrow letterbox.

Seconds later, Lady Bracknell opened the door and took delivery of three parcels. And subsequently bent down with some difficulty to pick her ruined Christmas cards up from the floor.

Lady Bracknell is sufficiently advanced in years to remember a time when those who worked in our service industries took a professional pride in providing an excellent service. Regrettably, those days appear to be long gone.


Blogger Mary said...

once again I am relieved to have a working intercom in my flat.

However I feel the need to praise the staff at my local Chinese takeaway. They know by now that if I am ordering a one-person-sized takeaway then it is because I am feeling too poorly to cook anything for myself. So the delivery drivers have taken it upon themselves - without me asking - to park and lock their cars outside and run up the stairs with my dinner, rather than the usual routine of pulling up and leaving the engine running while they ring the doorbell and stand on the step nervously keeping an eye out for potential car thieves.

10:35 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

That reminds me of the day I was at work and the "relief" postman walked in wearing ratty jeans and an equally ratty sweatshirt. Couldn't believe it!

10:41 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

How petty. I hope, at least, none of them were hand made?

11:40 am  
Blogger BloggingMone said...

Postmen delivering parcels usually have a bright red card available to be put into the letter box when nobody is answering the door bell, because everyone is out. Our postman can't be bothered to carry the parcel to the door and ring before leaving the card saying: Please, pick up your parcel at the nearest post office. He just drops the card into the letter box even though we are at home!

10:18 am  
Blogger Katie said...

It used to happen all the time that the postman would ring the bell, and not wait two minutes.

Now I live in flats with a porter and he takes delivery of parcels. Which is nice.


11:10 am  
Blogger Wrinkled Weasel said...

I am afraid you are by no means the only one.

I am currently awaiting important stuff that I was assured was posted a week ago.

When you ask for parcels to go "first class" at the PO they say, "Do you want special delivery, guaranteed to arrive the next day". I rather thought that is what "first class" implied.

I can actually remember the days when local mail could be sent in the morning and would arrive by second post the same day.

(Note: Second post was a quaint idea that consisted of there being two postal deliveries on the same day. Until the introduction of a two tier system, post could generally be expected to arrive the next day.)

11:12 am  

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