Stampie is our postman.

He’s a grand lad, always with a bright comment and he seems to know everyone by first name [I wonder how he knows our names?].  When a twat by the name or Gorndad moved into the valley and called his house Hood Rumbles Manor it didn’t knock a feather out of Stampie’s cap.  I only discovered the existence of this Gorndad bloke when Stampie was on holidays and I started getting the twat’s letters and vice versa.  Stampie always gets things right though.

The odd time I might have a parcel delivered.  Stampie will ring the door bell and will always have some smart crack ready [“I see Herself has been on eBay again” or somesuch].  If my car is there but I don’t answer the doorbell, he’ll leave the parcel on the window ledge.  If it’s raining, he’ll stick a note in the door to say he has left the parcel with the neighbours or down the local shop.  By any yardstick, Stampie is a decent bloke.

He is on holidays for the last couple of weeks.

Now if anyone deserves a holiday, Stampie does, but we all dread this time.

The replacement is a right lazy gobshite of a bollix.

Yesterday I was expecting a parcel.  I had ordered on line and had received an email saying the parcel had been dispatched so I knew it would arrive yesterday morning.

I went about my business as usual yesterday and forgot all about the parcel.  At sometime after five, I remembered it, and went through to the front door to check.  Presumably Stampie hadn’t wanted to disturb me and had left the parcel on the window ledge?


Stampie is still on his holidays and the little fuck of a replacement had decided it was too much trouble to ring a door bell.  He had posted a note instead informing me that there had been no one here when he called and if I wanted my parcel it was in Skobieville.  Now if he had pressed the doorbell I would have heard it because it is fucking loud.  The lazy little cunt just decided it would be easier if he didn’t deliver it.

Now normally I’m a reasonable bloke and not prone to bad language but I called the little cunt every fucking name I could think of under the sun.

Now I have two options.  I can either drive all the way into Skobieville on Monday and run the risk of having the car robbed, or I can ask them to redeliver it.  The latter sounds like a better option until you realise that the fucking bastards will charge a premium for that, which I refuse to pay.

There is a third option of course.

I wrote an mail to the manager and left him in no doubt whatsoever what I thought of his lazy. good for nothing little cunt of a postman, and how I wanted the parcel redelivered immediately with no extra charge.

I sent it by Interweb.

I don’t trust the post.

It's only fair to share...Share on FacebookShare on Google+Tweet about this on TwitterShare on LinkedInPin on PinterestShare on RedditShare on StumbleUponShare on Tumblr


The postman always rings never — 7 Comments

  1. “I wrote an mail to the manager and left him in no doubt whatsoever what I thought of his lazy. good for nothing little cunt of a postman, and how I wanted the parcel redelivered immediately with no extra charge.”
    All your talk over the years of bombs, rifles, quarries, lime pits and shallow graves and that is it??  Mrs Brady, old lady?

  2. Well, it seems your replacement is my regular post(wo)man (Gawd I hate being politically correct.). She’s forever delivering mail to the wrong people or not delivering it at all. I had to get a post office box at the post office in order to get my mail.
    I’d tell you to keep her but wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy (not that I have any worst ones).
    But at least you can look forward to Stampie coming back. I’m stuck with mine!.

  3. But where would rural Ireland be without the local post office and the local postal delivery officer, sorry postman? While we still have them let’s cherish them. All the cups of tea they get offered shows the social esteem in which they are held.

  4. tt – Damnit but you’re right! I’m getting soft in my old age. I’ll get out the old slash-hook and get him on the way out.  Don’t want to get him on the way in – might get blood on the parcel.

    Joysness – I’ll have none of that feminist shite here so you’re safe.  A postman is a postman be he a man or a woman or even something in between.  Our stampie hasn’t made a mistake in years, whereas the replacements rarely get anything right.

    Ger – Indeed I do cherish our Stampie as my wallet will testify around Christmas time [first mention of Christmas! Shit!!].  I also cut back the front hedge so he can reach the front door, as he is the only person who uses it.  He’d use the back door like everyone else only it doesn’t have a letter box.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Hosted by Curratech Blog Hosting