Some years ago I scribbled about our postal coding system.

I pointed out that it cost €27 million to implement and was a load of crap.

Now this is an exceptionally rare occurrence but I have to admit that I was maybe a little hasty and that the system does have its merits. Since I posted that little brainfart I have used our post code for such trivial matters as parcel delivery men, curry deliveries and indeed ambulances.

A package arrived through the letterbox the other day. It had the correct address and the correct postal code but it was addressed to some woman I had never heard of. I checked with Herself in case she was using an alias or something but she had never heard of the woman either.

I opened the package and inside was a leather purse and an invoice. The latter was made out to my new mysterious friend at an address about fifteen miles away. It did show my postcode however. I looked up the address and the mystery was explained – the post code was the same as mine but with a 3 instead of a 2. She had obviously typed in the correct address and incorrect code and the invoice reflected that. But the parcelling system had then looked up the code and printed the wrong address.

There was a contact phone number on the invoice so I phoned her. I explained that I wasn’t a stalker, a pervert or even a cold caller and told her the tale of the errant code. She was very apologetic but as I pointed out, it was a simple error and not to worry and that I would post it on.

I repackaged everything, sealed it up and sent it off on its merry way.

A week or so later I got my first Christmas card. It was from my new friend in central Wicklow, thanking me for my kindness which was nice of her. Even nicer, she had addressed it to “The Gentleman Resident” with of course my correct address and code.

I received another package this morning.

It wasn’t addressed to me, nor was it my address or my postcode. It was for a bloke about two miles up the valley.

Don’t they read the fucking post codes?