I would also like to scotch any rumous of Mrs TMR (to be) being with child. There's only one person that gets to suck on those fun bags 
The Post Office was full of the usual assortment of horrors, from the masses of blue-rinsed wrinklies with hair piled high (don't get jealous Barman) to the old-time rocker with his quiff magnificently held in place by half a tub of Brylcreem (don't jet jealous Barman), the hordes of single mothers with prams sending rudimentary tat that they have sold on eBay, Mbunko Ungrunto trying to make a fruadulent claim of some sort, the pissed young Irish fella (masses of curly black hair - don't get jealous Barman - and a T-Shirt sporting a leprechaun) who probably thought he was in O'Neills, the middle eastern woman sending a £500 postal order to Iran (!) and the young boy that served me and held his pen the way chimps hold paintbrushes their toes.
You never have the napalm when you need it, do you.
I hadn't realised that you had come up here to our village Post Office
I take it the old b@st@rd who insists on conducting all his business in Welsh wasn't there this morning. God I hate that man .... he speaks perfectly good English and in fact is English but has lived here for yonks and gone more native than the natives (who are mostly Scousers who moved out to the country anyway)
