Yesterday I met Postman Pat’s wife. While writing away at my usual hideout, a middle aged lady walked in, sat down opposite me on the communal table, ordered a long black and then proceeded to work her way through the 5 inch (at least) wad of mail that was accompanying her. I kid you not. Plastic wrappings and envelopes strewn across three seats and all.
image by hellojenuine
Even more disruptive and un-communal-table-esque was this lady’s constant chattering – to her mail. No, I promise, I’m not having you on. She conversed with every single piece of paper / card / stamp that she came across – including the Myer catalogues. Ah, isn’t that lovely, Oh, how nice, Oh my God. Oh my God! (this was in response to what look like a cheque so I’m guessing her weekly lotto purchase paid off). My response to her was torn. I honestly didn’t know whether to wedge one of her catalogues up her ass or bless her dear little soul for reminding me of the forgotten joy of letter writing. Continue reading