Here we go. Just another day sorting out the post. Oh, what's this, come to empty me already? Nope, just walking past into the house over there with some milk. Lady with a dog. She’s seen me. She's coming over. What's this? Yes, there's a letter in her bag. Here it comes, yes! Score for the post box. And the dog’s pissed all over me. It’ll be off putting to everyone who visits. Yet neither of them seem that bothered. Off they go without a care in the world that I now stink like wee. Here comes the post van. The postie gets out. He's pulled his key out of his pocket. He's just taken a big whiff of air… and he’s scarpered. Hope that letter wasn’t urgent. Serves her right anyway. Never mind, there's always the afternoon collection. Mind you, he should have seen last night's reaction on Monday morning after the crowd came out of that pub. There might be some smell remaining in the letters. Oh, here comes Mrs Davenport to change my cosy. What have we got here? It's a giant football. Well, that's just lovely.
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