Work by and large is shit. You might do a job that is passable and doesn't give you the fear on a Sunday night but unless you're of simple stock, earning large for doing very little, captain in your own industry or hate your home life so much that getting your nut down is a welcome relief, grafting is tedious, annoying and a downright inconvenience.

Though there can be the odd exception in this field but for me only when I look back at past occupations.  I was a postman for a few years through my late teens and into my early 20's and the crack there was something I'll always hold dear as I've never encountered anything since on a grand everyday scale.

The job itself on the outside is what it is. You deliver letters. You don't get offers of sex and very rarely get a cup of tea.

But inside, 40 odd Posties all together sorting the mail and then your walk (round) was the best laugh I've ever had in nearly 30 years making a living.

Introducing some of Greenford's finest.....

Sucker - A low rent Jack Nicholson lookalike who would sidle up to both men and women whilst sorting their walk and grab his bollocks and grumble  “Give us a suck". then cackle like Mystic Meg on Crystal Meth.

Jonesy - A young lazy workshy Morrissey obsessive who was always late and was the longest running part timer in our depot. Nothing too unremarkable there but his flat top and lizard type tongue, for some reason, made him attractive to older men. He was propositioned a few times which included one gentleman who tried to get him into his car one morning for a 5 am sack sort whilst Jonesy was making his way to work. The fella ran into work sweating like a paedo in a playground and collars me.... "Don't say nothing but this geezer just tried to pull me into his car, whilst touching himself . Reckons he'd seen me for a few weeks and I looked 'the type'... " By 6 am the whole depot knew and absolutely slaughtered him.  He refused to talk to me for a couple of weeks. One colleague even followed him in to work driving slowly behind Jonesy's brisk walk for a couple of mornings just to put the shits up him.

Bennett - Proper comedian who would crack you up as soon as he opened his gob. Gift of the gab and great company. Unless you'd been given more overtime than him and he'd bleat like a woolyback on a Yorkshire cliff and let every fucker know that he'd been shafted.

Reg - Similar to Bennett, but bigger and pretty unshakable. Used to tell us he was a third division footballer but couldn't say who for as we'd bother him for his autograph. He'd sit in the Post Office club and shout out "Oi Superthug  (my nickname as I was always talking about the off at football that weekend) come here I've got something to tell you ". " Fuck off ,you're going to fart on my head"  No, no it's important it's about the Pools .... You'd walk over there and as soon as you were within 5 metres he'd get your head and force it towards his grey slack covered Anus and let off a primeval emission that would turn bread into toast.

Bob The Perv - He would fix the bikes instead of doing a second delivery which enabled him to double up in being the keeper of the Office's Porn collection. For some reason people used to put Razzle and Fiesta in the post boxes and anytime a Postie came back with a couple shoved in his sack, Bob used to have the ability to sniff them out (probably cos most of them were stuck together at some point) and claim them for the bike shed. You were allowed to loan them but Bob would write down what you had taken and warn you not to nick them. Whatever happened to the Polaroid that Harry The Old Bloke brought back is a mystery though. (Why someone would want a picture of a freshly wanked penis with spunk all over the windowsill is beyond me, but we did have some wrong un's ). Bob once opened a package for his young female neighbour which had the shape of a big vibrator. The look of disappointment when it turned out to be a showerhead, was like watching a child having his Happy Meal whipped away.

Denyer - The youngest (till Billy Whizz joined) that used to freak out if he had a busy day. As he started an hour later, the mail would mount up on his desk and we'd start chipping away at him as he tried to sort it. As he'd normally only had 4 hours sleep and been on the herb he was very tetchy....... Busy day there son,....Jesus you won’t be finished till 11... Fuck me you want to see the amount of Recorded Deliveries you have got (bain of our lives, trying to get people up to sign).....Mate, kin hell you should have gone sick.....Next you hear " YOU CAAANNTTSS" as more mail was dropped on him .  He would then throw all his mail up in the air and shout fuck this and storm out for a fag. Everyone would be banging on their sorting frames, cheering as he'd cracked again under pressure.

Jenny - An Olive from On The Buses lookalike with a complexion like a cheese grater, who wouldn't shut up in a monotone voice moaning as Sucker would torment her as he worked next to her. "Oi Jenny, get down on that " as he would grip his piece with his tongue out Gene Simmons - Kiss style. Thankfully for Rod she didn't go to the Sex Discrimination Board as we think it's the only male attention she ever got.



Bing - An old fella who was a trainspotter.and used to get visibly excited if he had mail. Even if it was a bill.  Had every First Day Cover from 1953 or something, very smart, took pride in his job and was ultimately one of the most boring bastards you'll ever meet.

Fab Five Freddy Belsham - The opposite of Bing, lovely fella who avoided the bath as much as possible.  I'd like to say it was because he'd spend most of the afternoon in the bookies with his 50p Each Way bets but it was more to do with trying to save using water.

Billy Whizz - Fresh faced lovable 16 year old who, after a couple of Light Ales one night,  told everyone up the club that he wanked onto his Mum's Bath sponge to get her pregnant . Never lived that down and ended up being a crack head.

Fred The Cleaner/Tea Man - Top, top fella who told everyone he was a Spitfire pilot in the Second World War which some believed until I started . A smallish bloke who was the spit of Jackie Wright (the little fella out of Benny Hill ) and took a few slaps to his nut . That upset me no end as he was my Grandad .  Still he smiled graciously and then dribbled in the offenders tea. He went to call an ambulance for me one day as he thought I'd been throwing up blood .  I had to explain that it was last night's Pernod and Black .

Mick - The Union Rep . Obese bloke who was fucking useless both at being a postman and a Representative. My mate Lock ran for the position one year and won. Upset Mick so much he went sick for 3 months. Unfortunately Lock was an incendiary fucker and tried to lead us out on strike over the lack of quality cheese for the rolls in the canteen.  Mick got voted back in the next year.

Charlie - A diminutive wire haired bespectacled Glaswegian with a temper, whose love of Speedway would make him ride his PO bike like he was on a cinder track at Rye House. Unfortunately the streets of Greenford had a few more pot holes and one day he came back to the depot clutching his head and his broken bins , to the sounds of derision, laughter and the offer of a lift home . To which he told everyone to fuck off as he'd do the lot of us whilst clutching a pink hanky to his face.

Last the Assistant Boss - D'Souza.  A horrible short arse fucker who would stitch you up at the drop of a hat. No backbone and no bollocks. If you ever confronted him he'd start shaking with fear. The day I left, I offered him out.  I had just drunk half a bottle of scotch so looked like a red headed bad ass. He screamed like a girl and told me I'd never work for the Royal Mail ever again.

He was right .

Used by Kind Permission of Stuart Deabill and Away From The Numbers