LONDON: A gentle warning. In case you’re thinking of posting a letter or visiting a post office in PADDINGTON, DON’T because someone in the Paddington GPO is after your blood. The other morning I posted off some packets of back numbers to readers, and to make sure no Hets came loose in transit, I stapled the envelopes down. The following morning, no sooner had I left the erotica of the Bakerloo line, and entered that hovel we call an office, when a horrible man from the GPO rang up to tell me that I’d almost caused an actual strike at the local sorting office. Almost, well, you can’t succeeed in fulfilling your greatest desires all the time.
One of their nice postmen, while trying to prize open the staples, in order to steal whatever was inside our packets, had cut his lily white hand, and stained what the GPO’s spokesman termed as our “embarrassing packet” with streams of blood, and they weren’t going to sort any more of our post until we came round and removed every single, solitary staple. I collected the packets from the assistant postmaster, who peculiarly, was dressed in a long black cloak, with which he was attempting to consider his two front teeth which protruded terribly, and must have been all of eight inches long. And stranger still, there wasn’t the merest speck of blood to be seen on the packet. Just three large teeth marks and a GLF badge where the staples should have been.
So, Paddington GPO, Fangs for the memory.