It reminded me of my brief days as a postman nearly five years ago. I only did it for three months but that was long enough for me to be honest.
When you watch The World’s Strongest Man on telly and they’re dragging a train along with their nipple or whatever, I often think they should make them carry a bag full of Sky magazines around Billinge. My back honestly felt like it was going to snap.
Before I started working for the Royal Mail, I imagined there might be at least one bored housewife who would try to lure you in ‘for a brew’ everyday.
I started off delivering post around Kitt Green in Wigan ... the closest thing I saw to a woman being feminine around there was some shot putter with a Mr Men ‘Miss Naughty’ nightie on with baked beans stains down the front.
I did get one person who tried their luck and I swear this is true. A bloke offered me inside for a drink and I politely refused and then he decided to make a slow grab for my privates and I palmed his arm away and walked off.
It was at that point that I realised he’d been flirting with me for the previous two weeks and I hadn’t noticed,
I just thought he was being really friendly. I didn’t deliver his mail for a couple of weeks after that, I wasn’t putting my hand anywhere near his letterbox.
On the subject of Wigan, a headline in their local paper made me chuckle this week ‘Pie Starts Blaze’.
I think the headline is terribly unfair on the pie to be honest. What had happened is that a elderly cocoon lady had left her meat pie in the oven too long and it had started a small kitchen fire.
The way the Wigan press make it sound though is that the meat pie had come to life like some scene in a Harry Potter movie and started a fire. The reality of this situation is that it’s the pie that’s the innocent victim in all this.
It reminds me of the story about the poor monkey getting hanged in Hartlepool. Don’t worry, I don’t mean last week, this was during the Napoleonic Wars.
Anyway, a French ship sank near the coast and there were no survivors apart from a monkey, and get this, it was dressed in a French Soldiers uniform.
You have to remember they didn’t have Sky+ in those days so the French had clearly kept themselves amused by dressing this poor monkey up. Personally I’m not sure they were French soldiers, I reckon it was just some Geordies on a mad stag night. Although there are no records of any blow up dolls being washed up on the coast at the time.
So incredibly this monkey is the only survivor from this big stag do/enemy ship and was probably thanking it’s lucky stars until it had seen this big group of locals holding their pitch forks and Newcy Brown Ale.
The locals see this monkey in its French soldiers outfit and presume it’s a spy.
Now if most of us had seen a monkey dressed up we’d have thought awww that’s proper cute, but not the locals of Hartlepool, they hung the poor thing.
So like the meat pie the monkey got the blame too.