Have you ever been to the Post Office to return a parcel for someone who says “just give the parcel, get the receipt stamped, and that’s it”. So you go down to the PO and there’s a queue outside the door and half way down the chuffin’ street. So you join the end of the queue and wait. And wait. And wait.
After about twenty minutes you can just about see the front of the queue with a pair of high-powered binoculars. There’s only two kiosks open and one of them’s being hogged by a bloke doing absolutely fuck knows what. Everyone else is either paying in their life savings in pound coins that all have to be counted, or else seem to be withdrawing the entire Federal Reserve of the US of fuckin’ A.
So you inch toward the front, little by little. The bloke at counter No.1 is still wanking around with the same parcel he was holding when you first spotted him through binoculars and some Johnny Foreigner at the other is being told how to fill in a form for the seventeen-thousandth time.
You eventually get to your turn and slide the parcel under the glass. “Sorry, it hasn’t got the correct return label on”. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrghhhhhhhhhh!!!!! Then you turn to walk out and there’s absolutely no-one in the queue behind you.
Well that’s just happened to me. Today, dear readers, even God hated me.