The Postie

This morning I lay in wait for the postman. And pounced. Well, not literally.
“ I hope you have not got another funeral leaflet for me,” I say with a hint of sarcasm.
He laughs. He is new, a young man, well anyone under 50 looks young to me. 


“ How do I stop all this junk mail?”
Yes you’ve guessed the answer.
“Go online. Everything is online these days. They are taking our jobs.” 


He is right.
It seems petty to complain about a leaflet when he could be facing imminent unemployment. How long can we expect to have someone deliver letters to our front door especially when so much of it is junk?
I fear the writing is on the wall for our posties, a thought I do not share with him.


As a child growing up in Wales the postman was an important figure in our close knit rural community. He always had his breakfast in our farmhouse for my mother’s hospitality was legendary.
He did more than deliver post. He knew everything that was going on and shared information. He was a walking newspaper.


Photo - my attempt at macro using an iPhone.