Down to a local post office to send a letter to Blighty. This particular post office (not the one above, sadly) is only open three mornings a week, from 10 to 12. There is always a relaxed air, even though it is the size of about four telephone boxes and bizarrely has a very un-Italian single queue system in place (a single arrow painted on the floor). The Poste Italiane worker was behind the glass, his head thrown back, probably in deep and fond contemplation of his forthcoming retirement at the age of 50 on 85% of his salary. I waited a moment and then knocked gently on the counter. He returned to the awful reality of work with a grunt. No greeting of course. "Blighty please my dear old thing" I said pushing the envelope under the screen whilst quietly humming Heart of Oak. He picked up the letter and looked at it very carefully. "Computer's not working so can't frank it" he said eventually, barely able to disguise his pleasure. We looked at each other for a few moments. I thought it might be worth trying, although I knew it was a long shot. "Um, I suppose a stamp might be out of the question?" He smiled sadly and gently shook his head, slowly pushing the letter back under the glass.
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
Sending a Letter
Down to a local post office to send a letter to Blighty. This particular post office (not the one above, sadly) is only open three mornings a week, from 10 to 12. There is always a relaxed air, even though it is the size of about four telephone boxes and bizarrely has a very un-Italian single queue system in place (a single arrow painted on the floor). The Poste Italiane worker was behind the glass, his head thrown back, probably in deep and fond contemplation of his forthcoming retirement at the age of 50 on 85% of his salary. I waited a moment and then knocked gently on the counter. He returned to the awful reality of work with a grunt. No greeting of course. "Blighty please my dear old thing" I said pushing the envelope under the screen whilst quietly humming Heart of Oak. He picked up the letter and looked at it very carefully. "Computer's not working so can't frank it" he said eventually, barely able to disguise his pleasure. We looked at each other for a few moments. I thought it might be worth trying, although I knew it was a long shot. "Um, I suppose a stamp might be out of the question?" He smiled sadly and gently shook his head, slowly pushing the letter back under the glass.
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8 comments:
Probably paralysed by fear due to your stout rendering of 'heart of oak'
Picky, picky! The Italians make great wine, food and clothes and all you can think about is sending a letter? Tut!
We tried sending a postcard to Japan once, only to be told that Japan does not exist!
As a Marketer, I can advise that the essential element of all Post Office service is the strategic use of the breakdown/shortage of stamps, largely to prevent the formation of queues of pensioners smelling of wee.
Brilliant Grappa Hell stuff Ron. And Happy Easter. Or is that Buono Pascale or something? And how funny, the word verification for this comment is 'logno'. Any significance?
Logno is the Italian for when you can't get an internet connection. My verification word is wallog which presumably is Kurdish for wally.
And a Buona Pasqua to Ronnites, wherever you may be.
Beautifully crafted. I bet the postman has a spiffing uniform too.
Ron,I'm looking to make some Limoncello to keep me company during the latter stages of the World Cup.Do you know any good local recipes?
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