In case you are concerned, no animals were harmed during the proceedings I now describe. . .
B----y (his nickname) is a very likeable collegue at Royal Mail, who I spend considerable time working near. He has a slightly grumpy exterior, but it's underopinned with a weary sense of humour and irony. He is stocky, in his mid forties and about 5'8" height, with slightly magnifying spectacles. Although he is not particularly overweight really, he is frequently accused of having eaten all the pies. We both bike home in the same direction and I occasionally threaten to buy the last pasty in the bunshop should I reach it before him.
He was brought up on the west side of town around where we deliver, and I frequently bump into his dad, also a former postie.
We talk about his family sometimes, and he is obviously proud of his 20 something daughter now studying at University. When he refers to his wife, he is usually describing one of her shortcomings, such as the fact that she is not keen on cooking, or still won't learn to drive. I get the impression that their relationship is something of a begrudging companionship.
We occasionally accuse him of being in a grumpy mood on some mornings, despite him not actually being so. This will annoy him gradually until it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy of a sort. He seems to thrive on gentle wind up manouvres.
In his teens/twenties he was a reasonably promising rugby player until he crunched his knee and had to lay off it. He tells me that it still gives him grief these days. When out on the job, I have met many retired folk asking how the 'postman lad that used to play rugby with my son' is. B----y's still fondly remembered.
Yesterday he had to report a minor dog attack during his round. He was overheard explaining that the dog was 'like it was rabid'. Thanks to our native Yorkshire accents, the word 'Rabid' was misheard as 'rabbit' by another collegue. Well, that was it. Before long a widespread rumour had spread that B----y was reporting that he had been attacked by a rabbit. A whole host of admittedly childish but nonetheless amusing jokes began generating from this almost plausible scenario. Indeed there are many incidents which seem ridiculous when recorded on an accident report form, such as getting one's hand stuck in a letter-box, for example. All day, B----y was met with the greeting 'What's up Doc?'
He bore his tribulations with the usual combination of dignity, interspersed with handing out occasional duffings up.
On other occasions, customer complaints come in which seem bizarre or borderline loony. One collegue asked a lady if he could use her lavatory, to which she was agreed. He must have been having a nasty time because the following day, a complaint had been logged that his deposit would not negotiate the U-bend. Our managers showed great profesionality in their understanding of confidetiality by posting a photocopy on the notice board.
It is events and people such as these that help pass the ups and downs of life.
B----y (his nickname) is a very likeable collegue at Royal Mail, who I spend considerable time working near. He has a slightly grumpy exterior, but it's underopinned with a weary sense of humour and irony. He is stocky, in his mid forties and about 5'8" height, with slightly magnifying spectacles. Although he is not particularly overweight really, he is frequently accused of having eaten all the pies. We both bike home in the same direction and I occasionally threaten to buy the last pasty in the bunshop should I reach it before him.
He was brought up on the west side of town around where we deliver, and I frequently bump into his dad, also a former postie.
We talk about his family sometimes, and he is obviously proud of his 20 something daughter now studying at University. When he refers to his wife, he is usually describing one of her shortcomings, such as the fact that she is not keen on cooking, or still won't learn to drive. I get the impression that their relationship is something of a begrudging companionship.
We occasionally accuse him of being in a grumpy mood on some mornings, despite him not actually being so. This will annoy him gradually until it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy of a sort. He seems to thrive on gentle wind up manouvres.
In his teens/twenties he was a reasonably promising rugby player until he crunched his knee and had to lay off it. He tells me that it still gives him grief these days. When out on the job, I have met many retired folk asking how the 'postman lad that used to play rugby with my son' is. B----y's still fondly remembered.
Yesterday he had to report a minor dog attack during his round. He was overheard explaining that the dog was 'like it was rabid'. Thanks to our native Yorkshire accents, the word 'Rabid' was misheard as 'rabbit' by another collegue. Well, that was it. Before long a widespread rumour had spread that B----y was reporting that he had been attacked by a rabbit. A whole host of admittedly childish but nonetheless amusing jokes began generating from this almost plausible scenario. Indeed there are many incidents which seem ridiculous when recorded on an accident report form, such as getting one's hand stuck in a letter-box, for example. All day, B----y was met with the greeting 'What's up Doc?'
He bore his tribulations with the usual combination of dignity, interspersed with handing out occasional duffings up.
On other occasions, customer complaints come in which seem bizarre or borderline loony. One collegue asked a lady if he could use her lavatory, to which she was agreed. He must have been having a nasty time because the following day, a complaint had been logged that his deposit would not negotiate the U-bend. Our managers showed great profesionality in their understanding of confidetiality by posting a photocopy on the notice board.
It is events and people such as these that help pass the ups and downs of life.