Wednesday 101st January 1078: My bed, this isinglass tomb, with a basilisk at each of its five corners, is on fire again. It burns with the fire of hyacinths, lit last Lady Day by Muriel, the Alabaster Queen of my Pyjama-Case. Hunting in packs who slink, sinuous as creeping simians, the miniature Postmen are abroad again. It is midnight and I am awoken by their breathing, their kitten-like c...
Police do not take pet animal attacks on postal delivery workers seriously enough, irate union leaders told press hacks during their annual Christmas piss-up at Smegmadale's Fighting Dog and Pikey pub. The claim comes after postman Sheldon Scrunt...
Managers of the Royal Mail have told their footwalking postmen that from now on they must "hurry up". They are hoping to sack - which is quite an ironic term to use, coming as it did from pen pushers who left the real world several years ago - any...
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