Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Rural Post Offices

There has been some talk recently in the media about the fate of Rural Post Offices. This is, of course, not quite so fascinating to the hoi polloi as the antics of brain-dead celebrities gambolling through their lives like sexually over-stimulated puppies. However, it does raise some serious issues about the nature and fate of rural communities where the majority of these Post Offices (often the only shop in the village) teeter on the verge of insolvency.

Here in Little Frigging in the Wold, however, our Post Office, under the soft-but-firm guiding hand of our Post Mistress, Labia Entanglements has gone from strength to strength. Not only does it do the usual Post Office business of selling stamps, stationary, greeting cards and a wide but totally humour-free collection of 'comedy' car stickers, it does also perform that invaluable service to the community of keeping the great British tradition of the queue alive and flourishing. For, how else in this age of the internet and shopping mall, are our youngsters ever going to learn the delights of staring at the back of someone else's head for up to ten to fifteen minutes of their day?

Due to the wisdom and foresight of Miss Entanglements, our village Post Office has also undergone some wise diversification. For example, Miss Entanglements’ Sex Aid Coffee Mornings are very popular with the ladies of the village. Miss Entanglements has also opened a new department in the annexe* to the Post Office for fetish clothing hire. This has proved very popular for the village orgies, especially for weekenders, tourists and other visitors who do not own their own bespoke fetish gear.

Therefore, all in all, due to the foresight of Miss Entanglements, we in the village of Little Frigging in the Wold have little to fear - we feel – from any impending changes the government decided to introduce into the network of rural Post Offices.

*formerly the chicken coop. Labia decided against restocking the chicken coop after the unfortunate misunderstanding by the village’s recently-retired Badger-Mollifier, Old Feebletrousers, who under the influence of strong drink mistook the chicken coop for the village hall part way through last summer’s midsummer all-village orgy and dinner-dance. Apparently there were, according to PC Ghonnemadd, feathers everywhere and the state of Old Feebletrousers’ leather fetish thong had to be seen to be believed.

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