A Word About the Satchel

I should like it noted, for the record, that the satchel this morning was packed by an amateur. The weight was all wrong. Heavy end nearest the clasp, which any postal professional will tell you is asking for a listing gait by the second close, and I do not have time in my round for a listing gait.

I carried it anyway. That is the sort of bird I am. One strap dug in something shocking and I said as much to a lamppost on the front, who had no comment, being a lamppost.

I went through the contents at the harbour wall to redistribute the load, which is a technical term I use correctly. A great many envelopes. Two cards stiff enough to be invitations of some description, tucked in the middle where they would not crease, because whoever packed this satchel, while clearly untrained, is not a complete fool.

I reorganised everything by what I can only call feel and instinct, tucked the heaviest to the back where my shoulders are built for it, and got on with the round at a dignified pace that owed nothing to the earlier wobble.

For clarity, the satchel is packed each morning by me, Postie, and I have now had firm words with myself. We have agreed it will not happen again. I remain sceptical.