Country Folk
Last week I was in my local village post office. For those of you who don't know I live right out in the sticks in a world akin to Emerdale or The League of Gentlemen. We still have a village idiot - my ex is related to him by marriage. There is inbreeding aplenty - in the hamlet where I used to live with my ex (I now only live three miles up the road) his family accounted for half the population - there are 17 of them ALL IN THE SAME STREET!!!

Anyway, the village post office has appeared in episodes of Miss Marple and period dramas - it's said to be one of the most beautiful in England with it's Tudor cottages, Castle, quaint pubs and a stunning church where Mr Motivator was married (google him, he was big years ago...okay, not big, but he used to be on breakfast TV).

So there I am waiting patiently to buy my stamps and send off my Fleabay sale. An old man stands in front of me and he's having problems with some document that requires his birth certificate, passport, pension book, parents' marriage certificate and a premium bond - I think he wanted to open a Post Office Savings Account.

Also in the queue was an elderly couple who looked like Incomers - they wore clothes clearly purchased from Marks and Spencers and not the local branch of Scats*. It's possible they were just visiting and wanted to pick up some local colour by trying the Post Office - certainly they looked a little wary and as it was to turn out, with good cause.

After ten minutes of patiently waiting for the kindly but very, very elderly postmaster to explain to his equally elderly customer that he'd need to come back with his wife and all their children, I was beginning to lose the will to live.

Then in walks a rather distracted looking countrywoman; old stained puffa jacket, headscarf on the back of her head, wild tangled hair falling around her ruddy face, tweed skirt and stout green wellies - in other words a normal neighbour of mine.

"Hello! Hello! Good mornin' all!"

The postmaster glances up and smiles tightly, I nod and the old man carries on packing all his paperwork into a Morrison's carrier bag. The Incomer couple shuffle a little closer towards me and away from the wild woman.

"Blimey George, you gonna be much longer 'ere?" She squawks at him.

He ignores her so she loudly launches into what she's just been up to…..

"I've jus' come from the docs and Florrie**was in there an' she wus tellin' me the doc asked her 'ow many kiddies she'd 'ad.

She told 'im Three.

'E asked 'er what she used for contraaaacepshun an' she said she dirrunt use any, not errra.

'E told 'er she was bloody lucky!

I say she's a bloody liar!"


She then launched into a cackling laugh that became a racking cough, she stepped outside and spat out a lung, then returned to a stunned and silent Post Office.



Everyone knows that sleeping with your brother is effective contraception







* It's not a fetish shop, it's a farming supplies shop….although you can buy tack and whips there….
**May not be her name.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 26 Sep 2008, 13:50, Reply)