The postman only brings junk

FOR me, the excitement generated by the postman rattling the letterbox died many a long year ago. The pleasure in receiving mail faded fast when I left my youth behind and became a householder. That s when one begins a lifetime of paying bills, of course,

FOR me, the excitement generated by the postman rattling the letterbox died many a long year ago.

The pleasure in receiving mail faded fast when I left my youth behind and became a householder.

That's when one begins a lifetime of paying bills, of course, and I cannot believe that anyone would look forward to the arrival of those with pleasure.

The other thing which makes postal deliveries so disappointing is junk mail.


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It pours through my door at an alarming rate.

Sending out such rubbish costs millions of pounds a year but I suppose it must be worthwhile for the people who are responsible otherwise they wouldn't bother.

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If all their targets were like me they would soon be out of business as the junk turning up at the Adams residence gets only a cursory glance before going in the bin.

But one piece caught my eye the other day and left me wondering how many people are infuriated by what they get rather than just annoyed.

This one was from a catalogue company and began in the usual friendly way with "Dear Mr Adams". Well at least they got my name and gender correct.

It continued: "With the new season just around the corner it's time to start thinking about the colder days ahead. We've everything you could possibly need to ward off the winter blues in style."

I'm not the most sartorial creature on earth but I read on.

"Don't miss the latest must-have looks, including glamorous tailored silhouettes, pretty French-inspired detailing and our essential big-volume skirts."

Now hold on a minute, why would they think I have the slightest interest in tailored silhouettes, French-inspired detailing and big-volume skirts?

I have no idea what these things are.

Perhaps the computer which sent me this useless item of junk had second thoughts for further down the page it addressed me again in bold type and an encouraging manner: "Mr Adams, go to page 818 and check out our new leisure section - full of fishing, camping and DIY gadgets!"

All manly pursuits and bound to grab my attention, the catalogue company clearly believed.

Not so - fishing is not my line at all, camping leaves me cold and if someone mentions DIY to me I mutter under my breath: Don't Involve Yourself.

Something which did catch my eye and attention was a survey looking for the most quintessentially British vehicles.

It came up with a top ten and leading the field was the Morris Minor which beat the Aston Martin into second place which itself just pipped the Rolls Royce.

The rest of the line-up was the fire engine, Mini, black cab, double decker bus, Robin Reliant, milk float and Green Goddess.

Considering that people had such fond memories of the Morris Minor which has been out of production for decades, I was surprised that the Austin 7 or Austin 10 did not get a mention. Now those were cuddly, bubbly little cars.

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