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The wonderful people at the Royal Mail
Mar. 18th, 2006 01:03 pmSo. Ask me what monumentally stupid thing I did this morning. Of course, to save someone having to comment saying "So, Raven, what monumentally stupid thing did you do this morning?", I am now going to proceed to tell you.
I got up early. So far, so hoopy. I went out, with my mother, to run errands. There were several purposes to this trip. We were going to get a newspaper. I was going to drive, to make sure I still can - I can, whoo! - I was going to go to the bank to deposit a cheque for Pedar, and I was going to post a pair of letters. So, I drove down to the postbox - normally, I don't drive to a postbox that is about fifty yards away, but we were on the way to somewhere else - and got out, switched over with my mother, who resents my driving when my L-plates have long since fallen off (long story), posted the letters, got back in, went to village. At which point I asked: "Where's that cheque?"
Oh, I'm sure you know where this story is going already. I felt in my pockets, my bag, inside my coat, under my seat. And because I'm not that quick on the uptake, really, five minutes later it dawned on me. What follows, of course, is me going to the village sorting office with hung head and woeful expression, to inform them that I have accidentally posted a cheque for £149.50 into their Larkhill Lane post box, and did I mention, I am a moron.
They were very nice. Very nice indeed. They sent a postman out on his bike with the keys, telling me to go away for twenty minutes. So I went across the road to Pritchard's, and the moment I got there it was like I'd never left. (I have my old job back, thankfully - I'm working some of next week, on Tony's request, although I can foresee much confusion as he's moved the entire shop round again. People new to my LJ - when I'm not in Oxford, I spend much of my time working in this indie bookshop, which is happy, friendly, knows all its customers and is always on the verge of bankruptcy, and features a manager named Tony who is the world's nicest boss.) My mother was photocopying fifty sheets of paper - again, long story - and while I was standing there looking woebegone the postman came in with the bookshop deliveries, and once he spotted me, he handed me a bedraggled looking cheque with a smiling injunction not to be such an idiot. I promised I'd try not to be.
The moral of the story: when you post random things into red post boxes, make sure you do it in small villages where everyone knows your name.
Moving on. My parents have gone out - the bank in the village was closed, after all of that, and they've gone to find another one - and I am therefore being good and making a start on my PPE data analysis project. It is going to be hellish. Therefore, I'm telling myself I have to do three paragraphs of it, then a paragraph of fic to take my mind off it, and then another three paragraphs of it, and so on. We shall see if this approach actually encourages me to do any work.
And while I'm here, a word to any potential Life On Mars fans: now is a good time to get caught up.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lifein1973 is a good place. If you know what I mean. Um, I suck at cloak and dagger. Huh.
Data analysis! Yes.
I got up early. So far, so hoopy. I went out, with my mother, to run errands. There were several purposes to this trip. We were going to get a newspaper. I was going to drive, to make sure I still can - I can, whoo! - I was going to go to the bank to deposit a cheque for Pedar, and I was going to post a pair of letters. So, I drove down to the postbox - normally, I don't drive to a postbox that is about fifty yards away, but we were on the way to somewhere else - and got out, switched over with my mother, who resents my driving when my L-plates have long since fallen off (long story), posted the letters, got back in, went to village. At which point I asked: "Where's that cheque?"
Oh, I'm sure you know where this story is going already. I felt in my pockets, my bag, inside my coat, under my seat. And because I'm not that quick on the uptake, really, five minutes later it dawned on me. What follows, of course, is me going to the village sorting office with hung head and woeful expression, to inform them that I have accidentally posted a cheque for £149.50 into their Larkhill Lane post box, and did I mention, I am a moron.
They were very nice. Very nice indeed. They sent a postman out on his bike with the keys, telling me to go away for twenty minutes. So I went across the road to Pritchard's, and the moment I got there it was like I'd never left. (I have my old job back, thankfully - I'm working some of next week, on Tony's request, although I can foresee much confusion as he's moved the entire shop round again. People new to my LJ - when I'm not in Oxford, I spend much of my time working in this indie bookshop, which is happy, friendly, knows all its customers and is always on the verge of bankruptcy, and features a manager named Tony who is the world's nicest boss.) My mother was photocopying fifty sheets of paper - again, long story - and while I was standing there looking woebegone the postman came in with the bookshop deliveries, and once he spotted me, he handed me a bedraggled looking cheque with a smiling injunction not to be such an idiot. I promised I'd try not to be.
The moral of the story: when you post random things into red post boxes, make sure you do it in small villages where everyone knows your name.
Moving on. My parents have gone out - the bank in the village was closed, after all of that, and they've gone to find another one - and I am therefore being good and making a start on my PPE data analysis project. It is going to be hellish. Therefore, I'm telling myself I have to do three paragraphs of it, then a paragraph of fic to take my mind off it, and then another three paragraphs of it, and so on. We shall see if this approach actually encourages me to do any work.
And while I'm here, a word to any potential Life On Mars fans: now is a good time to get caught up.
lifein1973 is a good place. If you know what I mean. Um, I suck at cloak and dagger. Huh.Data analysis! Yes.
