Thursday, 17 January 2008
I popped out to the next village just now for the paper and a scotch egg. And I thought about how lucky I was to be able to use a country village post office, not only a mile or so down the road, but also still open. I won't say where it is exactly, in case a grey suited administrator looks it up on his grey list and thinks 'Ooh, missed that one. Get the padlocks out'. Much has been said about the demise of the post office recently, and I won't add my usual acerbic comments about how I feel. But here, just behind the ironstone church, is where I can get milk in real glass bottles with foil caps (albeit often from a dairy in Tewkesbury for some strange reason), local bread, homemade pies, the odd vegetable, samosas, chocolate cake, bottles of wine, newspapers; and still buy stamps, get Special Deliveries sent and chat up the post mistress. And buy scotch eggs.