Paul Roberts and post boxes

My spell as a stay-at-home dad ended when Charlie was six weeks old and my freelance career began. In those days, we referred to it as "contracting" and my first contract was with National Power in Harrogate. Over the next four years, I also worked at a company called BACG in Leeds - which was the only job I've ever hated - at Barclays in Knutsford, back at National Power again, and then, in the second half of 1995, I ended up at Bradford and Bingley in Crossflatts (just outside Bingley). 

When I went into computing in 1988 - completely and genuinely by accident - it was just to pay the bills because my ambition then was to be a rock star. When I left the band, one of the most crushing facts about my life was that I was now just a programmer. In desperation I joined a heavy metal band from Ulverston called Bye Bye Sanity but that didn't last and I found myself in a career I didn't want.

But by the time I got to Bradford and Bingley, seven years into my career, I'd really started to enjoy it and, actually, found that I was rather good at it. On this occasion, I took a role as the senior analyst on a high profile, high pressured project that had a very hard deadline. And I loved it. I particularly liked a lot of the people I was working with, including a chap called Paul Roberts.

He was a few years older than me, married with a couple of children of his own. My first direct experience of him was when he reviewed a document I'd written and it came back not only with comments of the content but also adorned by rings around rogue bits of punctuation, grammatical corrections and so on. Initially I was outraged but the next time I had a document that needed reviewing, I found that I gave it to Paul first. I learned a good lesson there and I warmed to him.

Paul sat with two other analysts called Laurie and Isabel. They were both fun and outgoing and clearly very fond of Paul who was a little quieter and, in some respects, quite shy and, I think, rather private. It was always a happy part of my day if I had to go over and talk to them, immersing myself in their bonhomie and good humour. On one occasion, for some reason, the topic of post boxes came up. Perhaps I'd asked where there was one to be found and Laurie and Isabel joyfully suggested that I ask Paul who looked momentarily pained.

It transpired that Paul had once written and then published a book detailing all of the post boxes around (I think) Bingley, past and present. He looked somewhat embarrassed about this but, frankly, I couldn't have loved him more for it. Consequently, I rarely see an old post box without thinking of him.

I saw this one today in Thornton-in-Lonsdale, in the wall of a pub called the Marton Arms. I was taking Dan and Abi out for lunch, and Milly, enthusiastically exploiting her new independence as a driver, said she'd meet us there. It was a clear, sunny day but not warm enough to sit outside and, in fact, cool enough in the pub that we opted to sit by the fire. We had an enjoyable lunch and I sat back and listened to the kids talking and laughing, which was especially lovely as Milly seems to bring out the chatterbox in Abi.

It's funny how passing her driving test has made Milly seem that bit more grown up to me and now, in a few months' time, she'll be off to university. Suddenly, it seems, my twentieth century babies are all young women.