I’ve had a very traumatic morning!<\/p>\n
I am, as regular readers will know, unable to drive at the moment due to my knuckle replacement surgery, which leaves me at the mercy of the 193 bus. \u00a0I board at the start of the line, so was really pleased to turn the corner of Gloucester Avenue and see two buses at the stop. \u00a0However, they BOTH pulled off in the thirty seconds it took me to get to the bus stop. \u00a0The next one came along twenty minutes later. \u00a0On the return journey, the bus stop was covered in a yellow cloth stating: BUS STOP CLOSED. \u00a0Now, I am a reasonable woman; if the bus stop has to close because the road’s being dug up, I understand. \u00a0But can’t a temporary stop be set up where the digging finishes – some 50 yards from the regular bus stop? \u00a0Apparently not. \u00a0There is no alternative but to trudge the half mile to the next stop. \u00a0As I did so, two buses overtook me, three minutes apart. \u00a0I then waited twenty-three minutes for the next one. \u00a0The 193 time-table boasts that buses run ‘about every 8-9 minutes’. \u00a0I think ABOUT is the operative word! \u00a0When I finally got home, there was a card from the postman saying he’d been unable to deliver a parcel four minutes before my actual arrival time. \u00a0I’d have been home if the 193 had done what it’s supposed to. \u00a0Now I have to take the offending bus back into Hornchurch at some point to pick up my parcel. \u00a0Thank God I’ll be driving within the next ten days, hopefully!<\/p>\n
But worse than the bus fiasco – I was mugged in the Post Office. \u00a0I couldn’t believe it – it happened so quickly. \u00a0I went up to the counter and asked for forty second-class stamps. \u00a0“Twenty-one pounds twenty,’ the smiling cashier said. \u00a0‘No. \u00a0Forty please,’ I said, thinking she had misheard forty as a hundred. \u00a0‘Yes, forty.’ she replied, still smiling. \u00a0‘Forty SECOND-CLASS,’ I said, emphasising the second as she was obviously trying to sell me first- class stamps. \u00a0‘Forty, second-class stamps, madam. \u00a0Twenty-one pounds twenty pence,’ she said loudly and slowly. \u00a0Well, they had to bring me a chair and a glass of water after they’d picked me up off the floor.<\/p>\n
Fifty-three pence for a second-class stamp!!<\/p>\n
The cashier smiled apologetically as I put in my PIN number and she pushed the offending stamps under the window to me. \u00a0And as I shuffled out of the Post Office, clutching my bag under my arm, I was sure that all the town’s villains would be waiting outside the building ready to snatch shoppers’ bags and then sell on the stamps on the black market, whereby earning a fortune. Much more profitable than snatching a phone or iPad, surely! \u00a0And as the door of the Post Office swung shut behind me I was certain I heard Adam and the Ants singing ‘Stand and Deliver’ on the radio.<\/p>\n
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I’ve had a very traumatic morning! I am, as regular readers will know, unable to drive at the moment due to my knuckle replacement surgery, which leaves me at the mercy of the 193 bus. \u00a0I board at the start … Continue reading