I think I might just start posting anecdotes that never actually happened. It can be a fun game! You'll have to see which ones are real and which are fake.
Here's a clue: I have no real anecdotes.
It reminds me of the time that I was standing at the bus-stop, and I looked down on the ground and saw one of those parcel delivery cards (you know, those 'we tried to deliver something, but you were out, you bastard' cards). And lo and behold, the name of the intended recipient was listed as 'Whoever Finds This'.
I was stunned. What an odd name, I thought.
I might steal it though. I can have four children called Whoever, Whenever, Whatever, and Come Again? Fung.
But I took a chance, and went along to the post office depot, clutching the slightly moist card in my hand. The depot is on Oxpens Road in Oxford, near the ice rink and a sixth-form college. Lucklily I didn't slip over or get assaulted on my way in.
The office was empty, and there was no-one behind the plexiglass, so I rang a little doorbell to attract attention. Looking back, it was odd that the doorbell's little tune was the Funeral March. But I didn't think anything of it at the time.
After a little while, a bored looking woman stumbled into view. Literally stumbled - there was some debris on the floor, and she swore unashamedly. I thought about making a crack about how I might have been in the ice rink after all, but thought better of it.
I handed over the card hesitantly. I thought she might laugh in my face (or at least into the clear screen before her mouth and my face). For a split-second, I felt like we were husband and wife, and I was visiting her in the slammer. What had she done? Stabbed a policeman, I reasoned. She had sturdy arms, and a certain stabby disposition that is common to women of her age/smell.
To my surprise, she took the card and went into the store-room to retrieve my package. As I waited, a poster explaining postage costs fell off the wall. I flinched, but late - a few second after it happened. I was glad no-one saw my foolishness.
The woman returned with a massive person-sized package. She had to open a special door to give it to me. I signed her form, and smiled. She looked like she was trying to smile, but got distracted by something (possibly knife-crime related).
I put the massive parcel under my arm and left the office, walking as far as a petrol-station forecourt. It was too heavy. The parcel, not the petrol station. I thought I'd better check what it was. After all, there was no point in hauling something unwanted all the way home.
I shifted over to where they inflate tires, and ripped of the packing paper. When I had removed it, I saw it was a life-sized statue of Arthur Lowe from Dad's Army. To be honest, I didn't know what to think.
A car's headlights reflected off the newspaper display outside the shop right into my eyes. I started to get a headache.
Anyway, that's pretty much it. Arthur Lowe now resides in a cupboard at my flat. I hang plastic bags off his ears. I don't mean it out of any disrespect. It's just that I can't think of anywhere else to put them.
