Royal Fail

Excuse the bad pun, but they really do fit the description. The Royal Mail, more specifically, my postman, the man who manages to miss the letter box most days and just throws the letters at the porch hoping that they'll land inside it, has finally made me snap. He's made me wish that the death penalty was reinstated. It's like I've been taken over by the inebriated spirit of a Daily Mail reader.

He and all who defend him, should be lined up and shot, from the feet up to make the pain last. Or stripped naked, tied to the back of a tractor and dragged over several acres of hedgehogs, porcupines and rusty nails, until the vast majority of his skin has been tore from his body, then to be packed in salt, into a box marked "BAIT" and shipped to Seaworld, using, so as to prolong the irony/agony, The Royal Mail. I think it's only fair. Karma and all that.

His crime- not delivering a parcel. In fact not even carrying the parcel from his little old dear trolley, and just shoving the card in with the rest of the post so that I have to go to the depot and pick up the parcel, during the three second window of time in which they are open and vaguely compas mentis and able to help.

We've all been through it, just finding the card and assuming that we didn't hear the door. Oh no. It's them, they want to be home in time for Loose Women. Maybe they have a thing for Colleen Nolan? I bet she gets all her parcels. Hand delivered on cushions probably. Cow. You wouldn't get that from Jane McDonald.