you were out

and we knocked really hard. but I was there. I just wasn’t listening. I rather like the idea of driving for 30 minutes to the single sorting office on the other side of town to queue for a further 340 minutes behind people from newmarket road trying to understand what the gentleman behind the counter with the ponytail is trying to tell them about why their enormous package to charles in new zealand never made it because they didn’t put a customs stamp on and about 17 hearstsease girlfriends doing returns to argos and freemans, as old mrs miggings struggles to comprehend that size really does matter and that A4 envelope is not a letter at all but it’s an enormous unwieldy parcel which some poor delivery driver will have to break their back simply lifting it to a letterbox and so that’s why it costs twice as much as last time, dear.

it’s exciting, I can’t deny it. but then, I don’t get out much. I even like going to chapelfield, because it’s got people in. except house of fraser, of course.


Make somebody else read this