A very polite…car?

 We once had a dog called Geoffrey, who in is his later years had a bit of a season ticket to the vet for various ailments.  Invariably we would be seen by the same one of the vets, who although nearing retirement and reducing his hours always seemed to be around at the times that we brought Geoffrey in. The vet was a softly spoken Scot called Graham, very much of the ‘James Herriot mould ’ who was kind, gentle, empathetic and most importantly ‘knew his stuff’.

Geoffrey would get prodded, measured, temperature checked and injected but there was never a whimper.  Graham the vet would invariably comment that he was sure that if Geoffrey could talk, Geoffrey would be a very polite dog!   Geoffrey is sadly no longer with us these past years,  but whenever I hear politeness being complimented, I think of Geoffrey.

 Which brings me to the subject of my car.  When I bought it some months ago I was intrigued by the 300 or so page manual provided.  I sort of expected 30 pages of instructions in English with 9 other translations, making me the ideal pub quiz team companion  as I would be able to reel off such important phrases as ‘replenishing your screen wash’  in Serbian, Catalan, Basque, Latvian and Lithuanian. Should that ever come up as a question.

I was somewhat taken aback to find that all 300 pages were in English, with the first 8 pages covering minor  and inconsequential points such as how to start the engine, lock the doors,  and turn on the lights  with the remaining 292 pages on all the other magic that existed in the vehicle to make my life easier.  I did start diligently reading but by the time I got to page 150, my eyes had glazed over with another 150 still to go.


Some weeks later we were on a long journey – well long by UK rural standard of about 250 miles – I appreciate that if you live in Australia or the US outside of the cities,  people travel this distance just for a  quick shopping trip and a coffee .   

About half way along the journey, the car chimed –  the car actually does a lot of chiming…it chimes  when its about to tell you the temperature is down to +3 degrees centigrade; it chimes when the washer bottle is low in water (or as we say in Lithuania ekrano plovimas) , it chimes  for more worrying reasons too like low tyre pressure….and here is the problem, I always associate chimes with impending bad news. 

So along comes a chime and the message is ‘feeling tired, maybe you should stop for some refreshments?’  Hmmm, is this the car being judgmental and analysing my driving and determining fatigue, or is it just showing off its mathematical ability and calculating a halfway point in my journey ? I will never know unless I read more in the big book……

So fast forward a few more months and another journey and another chime.  This time a very genteel and polite message advising that my oil level was a little low and at my convenience could I top up with 1 litre? Very polite, but very precise.  As the car had asked so nicely, and as I had some distance to travel, I stopped at the first roadside garage and bought oil and duly topped up.  It wasn’t the cheapest oil in the world, but this garage had a captive market and therefore the chance to sell oil at about the same price per litre as   liquid gold or computer printer ink !   

 Back on the road again, and this time on the UK’s M1 motorway, a veritable race track crammed with high-speed cars, trucks and not much calmness here.   

A few miles passes and ding, another message, but this time politeness has gone – a stark message in red that might as well have had a coffin symbol flash – ‘Your car has TOO MUCH oil, stop and do not proceed. Major engine damage could result. Seek technical assistance now’.   Fortunately, I was near an exit and got myself off the motorway.   In the UK we have so called SMART motorways where there is no ‘shoulder’ and just a detection system that theoretically causes signage to close the live lane that you are in, but of course relies on following drivers to see the signage and exit the lane.  There have tragically been serious and fatal accidents in these and I did not want to add to those statistics!


Anyway, once exited, I did seek assistance and I finally got me home and car got to the garage for repairs.  Naturally I asked what did they have to fix, a measuring sensor I had assumed? 

Oh, no they said giving me a pitiful look…its just a software issue, all fixed , new version downloaded and all will be good , don’t worry!

 I live in hope!

Just going for a spanner

Back in the 1960’s, 70’s and 80’s there was a UK TV soap called Crossroads, based on life in a Birmingham (England) motel…it was actually shown quite early evening rather than Prime Time, so it perhaps had a somewhat limited audience demographic that was available to watch it.

No catch up tv’s or even VCR’s back then. If you missed it, you missed it. There were about 4000 or so episodes of it and it even made a comeback in the early 2000’s. So I really don’t think anybody’s life has been too dented from the days that the bus back from work was late and they got home in time just to see the closing credits and missed a bit of the story. Anyway it was fairly dull…well it was to me anyway as a school child (like I say it was on TV when when children were hoping for something a bit more of interest like Blue Peter or HOW? ) For any non UK readers…sorry, but you will need to Wikipedia these, but trust me, these other programmes were far better to watch for an adult or a child. The one highlight of Crossroads though was when a leading character featuring in multiple episodes and storylines called Benny, a mechanic at the local garage, went off to borrow a spanner and just never returned. Never. Ever. I can only assume major contractual or artistic differences, so that was him gone.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is spanner.jpg

Why do I mention this? Not because I have a readership of B list British TV soap fanatics, but because I have had in a way my own Benny moment with this blog. Up until April of this year, I was fairly regularly posting when I came across moments or events that would inform, inspire or at least put a smile on somebody’s face. Anyway, along came a house move, and decided to miss out on publishing blogs for a week or so and I have been somewhat distracted for a few months and done nothing! I still see a lot of new views of old posts, so it encouraged me to move on from my Benny moment and pick up where I left off!

Having moved to a new village, but geographically not far, one would expect life to be much the same, but of course a good chance to meet new people. We have befriended not only our immediate neighbours but also their dog and will often take him for walks when his owners are unavailable.

I duly did this one afternoon a week or so ago and being new to the area I will tend to look around with interest at the houses and the passers by, taking in all that is new. As the dog and I strolled along, I glanced across the narrow street and briefly smiled an acknowledgement to the lady approaching me on the other side of the road, also accompanied by her dog. Expecting at least some sign of acknowledgement – from either ‘dog walker to dog walker’ camaraderie, or just general ‘small village’ civility, I was somewhat taken aback by the enthusiastic shout from her of ‘well hello gorgeous, you are looking good today!’. Blushing slightly from that rapturous greeting from a stranger and trying to think of a suitable reply that was neither stand offish, or ”yes, I do want to join the village swingers group” , I realised just in time that in fact this greeting was intended for the dog who she seemed to know very well!

A lot to learn still I think.

Thanks for still dropping by!

Until a few weeks ago I was fairly regularly posting  and optimistically hoping that whatever I wrote would get at least a couple of ticks from the reader for fulfilling their three I’s. 

By that I mean: Insightful, Informative, Inspirational or perhaps as an alternative I, at least….. Interesting. 

Life has got in the way for the last few weeks and my Late to the party blog has been more of, ‘just didn’t make it to the party at all that evening’. 

I had assumed that without posting anything new, nobody would drop by,  but actually that seems not to be the case  and for whatever reason people keep finding this blog somewhere and are dropping in, sometimes with a friendly comment deposited in my virtual letterbox.

And for anybody concerned that I have lost my ‘writing for fun’  mojo, that is really just not the case, it’s really just a matter of a temporary interruption in service with much to follow in the future. We live in a world where despite the bad stuff (and no need to document that here)  there is thankfully at least in my life, always things that amuse or entertain me and I want to share.

Even if it is just the First World problem of how I stop the Harry Houdini skilled squirrel that lives in our garden from stealing all the birds peanuts!

Happy Wednesday!

Ipsum Lorum and all that…

As I write this, the date is April 1st. Thinking back to my teenage years, April 1st was a day filled with trying to fool others and equally not to be seen to be fooled by them. I can’t really remember the details of the kind of pranks we did but I honestly recall them as being tame and innofensive.

In 2021 the challenges of home schooling, home working and in general not having any contact with any others has certainly contributed to an already diminishing tradition. If we are not in direct contact with others, a lot more effort is probably required, although social media posts I guess are an alternative…one could argue they are just one big continuous spoof and not to be believed, but that is perhaps a blog for another day.

Even TV and newspapers used to get in on the act. In the late 1950’s there was a BBC documentary all about the Spaghetti Trees in Switzerland complete with (faked) footage of farm labourers harvesting spaghetti from trees. As a trusted and serious broadcaster, many were indeed fooled by this. You also have to remember that pasta was not normally a part of the British diet in those days other than for those of Italian origin so people would really have no clue as to where it came from.

Fast forward to the 1970’s and the UK’s trusted broadsheet Guardian Newspaper did a whole pull out section of the paper about a new overseas holiday destination called San Serrife. There were actually lots of other printing related clues and puns embodied in the article. It was very well put together with articles on climate, entertainment, how to get there and so on. Many respected uk companies even had joined in on the article and had feature adverts on the pages. Again, bear in mind the period. People did not have home computers or word processors so there would be no familiarity with font names etc. that would give the game away. Back then you would have to be in the printing trade to have familiarity with San Serif, Arial, Times New Roman and so on.

But, these days we are all quite good about being chair side experts on so many matters…often to the immense frustration of the professionals who have worked tirelessly in their fields for a lifetime.

Crime detection and criminal investigation – CSI, Morse, Vera, Midsommer Murders, The Bill. Dramas and documentaries over the years have made us all well versed in the terminology, techniques and methods of police work. Cooking, and baking…well where do I even start on this.

But the icing on the cake, if you forgive the pun is house buying, selling and onward improving of them. Here in the UK we have several TV programmes that have turned us into experts on valuing property, the of marketing challenging houses that are difficult to sell…and how to turn the ugly duckling house that you have bought into a beautiful swan!

As someone who is just involved in this process at the moment, you might think this would be helpful and added armoury to guide me in the process. Well I am really not so sure…a little knowledge as they say, is dangerous. I now see hidden dangers everywhere….that pretty stream near the back garden…well that’s a flood risk; that nice outlook over the fields…well surely that will be built on; that quaint sloping ceiling from 1800…hmmm, is there subsidence; character property?…oh, it will be expensive to modernise; modern property…difficult to add character………and so on.

But these really are First world problems, and with good judgment and some paid for professional help we can clear our heads of the confusion and enjoy the next step of the process.

Going back to the world of printing, anyone who has ever had a mock up or outline of a document prepared by a printer or graphic designer will find it full of made up Latin Lookalike text called Ipsum Lorum text. It’s there really just to give an idea of the finished product once your own personal input is there.

A bit of a life message there I think!

Mad as a fish

I was clearing out some old paperwork and came across the documents I had printed off when I used the aforementioned ‘Mad as a fish’ as my Internet service provider (ISP).

For the benefit of anyone under 30 struggling with the concept of what paperwork means, back in the day when you subscribed to or contracted with any kind of service you always got a pile of paperwork. It’s worth adding that all but the most diligent wouldn’t actually read it, but dutifully filed away…or for the less organised, shoved in a drawer somewhere.

I can’t quite remember why I signed up with them back then. I have long since moved on through quite a few other ISPs but not with quite such ‘off the wall’ names. It might have been the quirkiness of having a slightly strange e-mail address such as ugly.ocean-monster@madasafish.com . Although cyber crime and phishing e-mails (no pun intended!) weren’t really widespread then, even in those days it would have been a warning sign to get a random e-mail saying Dear Ugly Ocean Monster, it appears that your car tax Direct Debit has failed, please connect to this site and give us all your personal data so that we can hack you etc. Let’s face it…how many Ocean Monsters have cars, or can drive?

As I wrote on a previous blog, call me baked potato I am actually a big fan of having a random e-mail address or two to use when you are absolutely forced to give a contact e-mail for an unfamiliar on-line retailer or booking service even though deep down you know at best this address will be spammed with rubbish and at worst there will be attempts to scam you.

In fairness to fish, and using the context of ‘don’t get mad, get even’ rather than any kind of Mad Professor behaviour or other suggestion of not quite being in line with everyone else; most fish I have come across have been pleasant and very even tempered and if I recall Mad as a fish were quite good on customer contact and service. Glad to see that they still seem to be around.

These days many people tend to sign up with mainstream providers – in the UK it is often Sky, EE, BT (the original and largest fixed line and phone service provider) ; in the US it’s Comcast and Verizon and a whole host of other big names. If you live in China I think its just two providers . That’s some duopoly!

However in Switzerland , amongst the advantages of living in a country that is very good at Chocolate, Mountains, Trains that run on time and watches that are on time too but have eyewatering price tags, they had a start up ISP called Twifi which generously offered free WiFi for 18 years for anyone who named their child after the company. If you had a daughter is was to be Twifia, if it was a son, Twifus. All you had to do was send them a verified copy of your child’s birth certificate.

Such offers don’t seem to be available in the UK much to the relief of children whose parents signed up with Cuckoo Internet!

Our children were from an earlier era, and it was really just energy providers that were proliferating.

Thankfully for them such marketing campaigns hadn’t existed from the providers we had signed up with, otherwise we might have been proud parents of Octopus and Bulb..the big name providers of the time!

The dog has gone to the pub

It does sound like the start of one of these jokes ‘a horse walks into a pub, and orders a beer etc.’ but it does appear to be a true story.

We went to look at a new house to buy today and as we had run out of polite things to say to the owner, we shifted the conversation to dogs as she had mentioned they had previously owned one (we presume now gone to doggy heaven, or part of a divorce settlement and gone to live with her ex husband along with it seems also half a grand piano, the ties she had cut the bottoms off and the mid life crisis sports car that may have been the start of the the bad times that had ensued.

Anyway, back to the dog. The dog it seems was a Patterdale Terrier called Zoom. Quite why you would name a dog after an on-line conference calling application flummoxed me.

To be fair the dog had perhaps pre-dated the technology age, but it still seemed strange. Nevertheless, calling a dog Skype or Microsoft Teams would have been equally surprising!

As a previous owner of a Patterdale Border terrier cross, I know Patterdales have some endearing qualities to hopefully offset their not so endearing ones of chasing cats and terrorising other dogs who might dare to greet them. Patterdales do like to be liked by people and it seems Zoom was no exception. Being an intelligent dog he had worked out that when he was taken to the local pub, the kindly drinkers of the Fleece would make a fuss of him, let him sleep by the fire and feed him with some very tasty pub grub. In Yorkshire we not only give our pubs sensible no nonsense names like the Fleece, the Rams Head or the Shepherds boy; we also serve decent size pub food portions meaning there is often a bit going spare for a hungry terrier!

The downside of this great local hospitality was it seems that every time they returned home from a walk, particularly in wild and wet wintry weather when the only prospect for the dog was perhaps a bit of a cold hose down to remove mud, and then some not very appealing supermarket dog food, the lure of the pub was too much and he would run off there at the first chance.

So the moral of the story to us was…if you decide to live here and your dog goes missing…check the pub first!

And now for my specialist subject…me!

Like many families, the restrictions of life at the moment, brought any opportunities for meeting to a sudden and unexpected halt. Although we are spread across the North and South East of the UK, we previously we would periodically be able to meet up…either for specific occasions such as birthdays, Christenings and so on…or just because we felt like it.

So in keeping with likewise many others, we periodically meet up on zoom and have a family quiz!

We are a family of mixed interests, education , professions and we have consequently had some interesting if not bizarre quiz rounds.

The range has been really eclectic…we had had rounds on The police (One of our family is a police officer), the bones of the human body (from our physiotherapist), Disney Themes, identifying names of chocolate bars from cross sectional pictures, World Airports Three Letter codes, Scotland and to the horror of most of us who have only scant memories of school chemistry, a whole round devoted to the periodic table!

One of the bonuses of the events that you are hosting (because it’s your birthday etc.) is that your household sets the questions. So when we were the hosts on occasion of my birthday, my wife kindly created the rounds and questions with one round dedicated to facts about me, yes ‘yours truly’ !

Somewhat embarrassingly I really didn’t excel and got many questions wrong including my shoe size!

I had always pondered what specialist subject I would offer if ever I became a contestant on BBC Tv’s Mastermind Quiz programme. I now know for definite I will not choose the subject as me.

I actually did better on questions about the periodic table!

A Mercedes bus, the desert and Mrs W’s tights.

This may seem like an unlikely three word clue for a TV quiz game, but in fact it’s the summary of an event from way back in my life but still memorable to this day.

My first job in the travel industry was working for an up market provider of specialised escorted tours to more unusual locations such as the Nile valley of Egypt. I worked in the office as a Tours Executive …a grand way of saying we took the bookings and managed the process of putting the tour together but although we were office based we were also all trained as Tour Leaders and on occasions  throughout the year
we also would take groups on these wonderful itineraries as Tour Leaders.

We would meet the group at London Heathrow and then fly out to the start point and accompany the group and ‘look after them’ at every step until finally returning to London.
We were thoroughly trained by more experienced colleagues so although most of us were just in our early twenties, we were able to cope with most ‘incidents’. I have many stories but I was reminded of one recently when a friend asked me for advice on a car overheating warning light!

On one such trip in Egypt, the majority of my group had booked for an optional day trip to Alexandria from our Cairo hotel base and as was expected, I too accompanied them. It takes about 2.5 hours by road to Alexandria. Cairo is a big city and it can take 25 mins just to get out of the city before you join the the desert road for then two hours drive of just desert and not much else. Whilst still in the outer districts of Cairo, our smart Mercedes coach began making a grinding noise and slewing in its alignment and it seemed we had a puncture. Fortunately we were able to pull in at a roadside repair ‘shop’ …this was grubby, chaotic and staffed by a couple of what looked like 14 year olds! Anyway action was swift, coach jacked up, wheel removed and spare on in 15 minutes and off we went again.

Now I haven’t yet described my group…let’s just say an eclectic mix. Anyway a lady I had christened Mrs Notebook (as she recorded in a notebook several questions per hour of things she needed to take me to task on) immediately demanded of me ‘they have fixed it, haven’t they? You wouldn’t be taking us out to the desert road with no spare?’ In true Pinocchio style I gave her what was hopefully a confident look and assured her that was the case…. but knowing it wasn’t!

We got to Alexandria without further incident, had a good day and started our return trip back down the desert road in the late afternoon. About an hour into the return journey back on the desert road, I found we were pulling in off the road in the middle of nowhere.

My heart sank…surely not another puncture. Who could be so unlucky and actually more so as now had no spare and we were were and truly out in the desert …back in the early 1980’s, this was not the more highway like route that it is today.

Leaving my group inside the coach in decreasing comfort (the engine had been stopped and so had the air conditioning) I went outside to talk with the guide who was accompanying us and the driver  into the 110 degrees F (40 Centrigrade) furnace! In the best style of school boy humour, with the guides translation, the driver announced there was good news and bad news! Good news was that we didn’t have another puncture (phew) but the bad news was that the coach fan belt had broken, so  we had an overheating engine (as this belt drives the water pump and alternator) and no air conditioning.

I hasten to add this was before the days of mobile phones, and we were a long way from anywhere. As we were a party of about 30, flagging down a passing vehicle for a lift wasn’t really an option either. The driver reassuringly suggested that in about 3 – 4 hours one of the company’s other vehicles would be passing by and we could flag that down and use that to get somewhere!

This didn’t seem like a good option but it was the only option….so I got back on the coach and announced the good and bad news. This was generally accepted with stoicism – the kind of passengers we got on these tours were often retired military top brass, Miss Marple look alikes, feisty spinsters and so on, in general intrepid travelers.

I thought our fate was sealed for the next few hours…but suddenly I am approached by a lady from the back of the bus. I had got to know Mrs W quite well over the course of our time in Egypt. She was accompanied by her 21 year old daughter who was been taken on this adventure by her mother as a birthday present. I had assumed Mrs W was just coming for a chat or indeed to commiserate with my predicament. I was only two years older than her daughter and I think she felt a bit protective towards me (and also saw me as a prospective son-in’law) as I was now bombarded with questions from the other passengers…concerned not about safety but would they miss drinks and dinner etc.

But no, this was not what she wanted. Mrs W  had a queztion…. , Can’t we just fix the fan belt with a pair of tights? …she was sure she had read that somewhere once. From our conversations I knew she was well read in Dickens, Darwin, de Vinci and it now seemed also in car mechanics for beginners! I explained that although I too was familiar with that workaround it probably really only was any good when used as a quick stop gap for a Mini car to get you a few miles to your local garage…and besides which, who has a pair of tights on in these searing temperatures!

I do, she swiftly replied…and promptly retired to the back of the bus to remove them in a dignified manner.

Far from confident, I returned outside and through the guide I explained to the driver what was on offer. He evidently was not as well informed as Mrs W and me on this method of alternative fan belts and just laughed at this crazy Englishman and his ideas for his bus engine. However after much, much persuasion he said we could try. Now a car engine is one size, but a Mercedes bus engine is huge.

We used the entire length of the tights…both legs and the joined area (sorry not sure if how this can be otherwise described) to replace the belt that had linked the bus water pump, alternator and cooling pump! It was not a pretty sight… but the driver reluctantly started the engine waiting to be able to say to me …look, I knew it was no good. But miraculously they held (all credit to the quality of hosiery that Mrs W invested in) and the engine started cooling down and we had air conditioning. The drivers confidence seemed to grow and from point blank refusal, agreed to use this to try to get us back on the road and to the possibility of some assistance. Through the guide as interpreter I gave the health warning…don’t push our luck ..stick to about 50 km/hour and lets hopefully limp in to the first town that was only about 10km away to get a proper repair.

We set off with extreme caution…maybe only 10 km /hour…then a little faster, with constant checking for warning lights. A little increase to a bit faster followed , and then more.

Suddenly the driver became convinced all was well, foot went down and back to 110 km/hour… I was a bit distressed but as the miles went buy I realised we were approaching the town now and I crossed my fingers and held my breath.
But the coach was not stopping. The driver was now so convinced that Mrs W’s ‘Pretty Poly’ tights were the answer he ignored all pleas to stop and drove for a further 1.5 hours back to Cairo to deposit us at our hotel!

This was some years ago but I am now fairly convinced that for the remainder of this bus’s life, it was reliant on Mrs W hosiery for its cooling system, alternator and air conditioning.

Moments like these tend to bond people and in fact I remained friends with Mrs W and her daughter for many years to follow. When asked by acquaintances how we met..nobody ever really expected the answer she gives  them!

Valentine’s day again…disclaimers apply!

I will start with the disclaimers. I have noticed of late that several online retailers that bombard me with e-mail ads have asked me if I want to opt out of Mothers Day marketing, as for some this is distressing for those bereaved, estranged or have other reasons not to want to be reminded of that ‘celebration’. I understand this and appreciate the efforts that are made here.

I think I may have seen similar for Valentine’s day..again for those who perhaps who may be troubled by the trumpeting of doey eyed love etc. Having said that, it is a day to celebrate all love..whether that is for family, friends or even just a slobbery but lovable dog called Alfie. Anyway, if mention of this day , which unlike Mothers Day is always recognised on the same date globally, will trouble you then now is the point to hit delete.

Still with me? Good, I will carry on. The new world order of (depending where you live in the world) having some degree of lockdown has presented new challenges for the romantics amongst us. As men, generally speaking, we are not as well organised as woman so actually having to plan, order on-line etc. for cards, let alone flowers, chocolates or other appropriate (…or inappropriate!) gifts will have been challenging and surprising for my fellow men. I have heard several accounts already today of confused looking men looking forloningly at closed florists shop doors that in previous years have welcomed their panic last minute buyers willing to pay serious money for not very wonderful red roses!

When I was a teenager (…and for the avoidance of doubt, this was quite some time ago) Valentine’s day was really all about ego, bravado, mystery and intrigue. It was also about kindliness as well. Disposable income for my peer group depended on how much pocket money you got and/or if you had other income such as a paper round or Saturday job. I worked in a pet shop…but that is indeed a tale (tail!) for another time.

Why kindliness?..I knew of several kindly siblings, friends and occasionally parents who would send a card to someone in their family or circle of friends to lift their spirits, add sparkle to their life etc. Maybe people still do that now? Done with the right intentions it probably on most occasions is a gesture that has value rather than damage…but I know there can be occasions where unwittingly it just adds torment to the recipient 😯

These gestures aside, I recall sending cards slightly anonymised but with sufficient clues to link me to being the sender, but ample opportunity for escape if the recipient indicated displeasure about being the recipient of a card from me. One of my favourite clues was leaving my initials written under the stamp…a sure sign if that level of forensics was involved they really were despite to find out the sender!

I also had a few mystery arrivals in my post back in those years and dutifully steamed off the stamps but the sender(s) did not seem to share my methods. Postmarks also didn’t really help – I lived in Glasgow a big city and the postmark often gave no clues other than the city name.

Those were fun times, but not so much a few years later when into my early twenties when a slightly devious girlfriend sent me two cards….one a pink and fluffy one (she was a pink and fluffy kind of girl..so she was the obvious sender of that) she sent a second one that was very anonymous…it seemed this was a test to see if I admitted getting it. I did, but that then was the beginning of the end and Miss Pink and Fluffy moved on to make someone’s else’s life pink and fluffy!

Happy Valentine’s day to you all…and remember …if in doubt admit to every card received!!

Postman Pat

Two week’s ago this blog festured ‘The Wheels on the bus’. Don’t get too excited thinking you have cracked the Enigma code here and seen a bit of a pattern with children’s songs..it really is purely coincidental.

Incidentally for those not from or familiar with the UK these really are what our rural post boxes look like (to this day) and sadly what our public phone boxes did look like although you see less and less of them in use. In some small villages they have been turned into book exchanges, or will house defibrillators; in more urban areas they have also mostly gone but you find the odd one that now houses a cashpoint (ATM)

Anyway, for those not in complete  harmony with UK  children’s TV and the corresponding theme tunes, Postman Pat was an animation character of a friendly middle aged postman in a fictional village bordering Cumbria and North Yorkshire. Our own  children who are all now professional adults in their mid twenties had postman Pat so ingrained in them that even now , particularly  if we are in that locality (which is only an hour or so away from where we live) will still exclaim…’ah, it’s postman pat’ if we drive past one of the iconic red Royal mail vans that are still used in rural areas. Like any good parent I just indeed assure them it is that very person, he is probably delivering a letter to Mrs Goggins and Jess, Pat’s Black and White cat is safely curled up asleep in front of the fire at home!

There was obviously many years of indoctrination to get this almost Pavlovian response to seeing a red van (and a man probably in shorts and other non winter weather clothing which is a somewhat stereotypical but true image of our posties)

So what next? ..if we see DPD delivering will there be shouts of …it’s Mr Higgins?  DPD in their tracking messages are always very formal and tell me that Mr  ‘so and so’ will be delivering shortly.

Or what about DHL? ..Will there be chants of …’look a huge  envelope arriving’  ….this of course sealed with industrial strength polythene impossible to permeate that will then reveal a tiny envelope.

Or of course a non descript white van  ….aka an Amazon delivery of a very large box…just filled mostly with air and perhaps a tiny package!

No wonder Mary Poppins got excited by parcels!
%d bloggers like this: