One or two of you may remember as far back as last Saturday when I wrote a wee scribble about a bone idle postman?

Just to recap – I was expecting delivery of a parcel, but instead all I got was a form telling me that the parcel was not delivered as “I was not in at the time of delivery” and that I could collect it in Skobieville if I wanted it.

Seeing as I was in at the time, this miffed me ever so slightly as it meant a ten mile round trip to collect something that had been within inches of my grasp.

I complained to his boss.

So what happened after?  I’m sure you have all been waiting on the edge of your seats to hear the outcome?


On Monday I collected the parcel, two speeding tickets and a parking fine.  A normal jaunt into Skobieville, in other words.  I decided to put the whole episode behind me and forget about it [along with the speeding tickets and the parking fine].

On Tuesday morning I was having a grand lie in, when the doorbell rang.  I should explain that the doorbell is attached to the ceiling of the room directly beneath my bed, so it is the equivalent to being woken by a bomb.  As usual, I rushed down to open the front door before whoever it was decided I wasn’t in.

I opened the door, and there was a young lad standing there, wearing a bright yellow day-glo thingy with An Post written on it.  It was my friend the stand-in postman.

I immediately thought he had called to apologise, which would have been the right thing, but no, the little cunt had called to complain.  So he stood there in his Day-Glo and I stood there in my pelt while he berated me for putting a black mark on his record.  He insisted that he had rung the doorbell.  I pointed out that if he had rung the doorbell I would have heard it.  He accused me of sleeping through the racket.  I pointed out that I hadn’t been able to sleep through the racket a few minutes earlier, and the sight of me standing there was proof that I can hear my own fucking doorbell.

I almost felt sorry for him.  He was young, impetuous and lazy.  He reminded me of myself at that age.  I would have probably not bothered to deliver the parcel either.  I apologised.  I told him I was very sorry I had put a black mark on his employment record.

To make things up to him, I let him play with Woodya.

Or maybe I should say I let Woodya play with him?

Jayzus but that dog has a fucking lethal jaw!

I hope our replacement-stand-in-postman is a little more considerate…

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The Postman’s Reprise — 10 Comments

  1. I still find it hard to believe that some postmen will go to the effort of walking up to a door, writing a “you were out” tag and popping that in the post box, rather than just ringing the doorbell. If I hadn’t seen it before (on the youtubes), I wouldn’t believe it! It’s just so strange. 

  2. He probably did ring it. As you say it makes no other sense.  Major Misunderstanding(Viz) was probably having a wank under the blankets.

  3. GG – I can only assume that he reckoned it was quicker to bung a note in rather than hang around waiting for someone to answer the door.  When you think about it, a postman rarely has to contact a householder and it would possibly throw him off his little routine?

    TT – There is no way anyone [even someone having a wank] could possibly not hear that doorbell.  It is fucking loud at the best of times but right underneath the bed?

  4. tt – It’s a subject about which I know little.  I will bow to your superior knowledge.

    I like crickets.  They remind me of France.

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