No need to sign for this oneOne advantage of living in rural areas (this one at least) is the very personal postal service. Not only does the postie deliver the mail as per his (in this case) job description he will also pick up the outgoing letters. Nothing to do with us having been a post office, just part of the service. And as we live next to the only industrial outfit in greater Hutton, we get our mail nice and early in the morning. And, a bonus this, thanks to the enthusiasm of our postal guy I now know more about Newcastle United than I ever did before and much more than I really need to know for most purposes. But at least I can shout 'Come on the Magpies' with some authority. Not that it often seems to work. And I don't really want to worry about Michael Owen on top of trying to sell a large house.
The Posties cover a huge parish berween 7am and 2 pm or so having started off at Ber Wick sorting office. TD15 being English,basically. And I sometimes see them in unexpected places sipping their coffee or munching their dinner. Or up to something else less explicable.
Like this morning there was the little red van parked outside the 'new' cemetery-only been in use this past thirty years. No sipping no munching-some other mission.
Suddenly the thought of a dead letter box popped into my head. In the new cemetry. Of course.Fishwick Special Branch would never have thought of that. And the whole operation would give a new dimension to the expression:
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Labels: Hutton, Low Flying Merse, Posties, Royal Mail
