Royal mail

Readers with a nervous disposition should turn the page because I’m going to be sprinkling the C-word across the next few paragraphs. It’s still August and clearly much too early to be discussing Christmas, but a campaign has been launched that requires attention now. First, a quick quiz. How much is a first-class stamp? Bzzzzz, time’s up. It’s now £1.80, which means a book of six is more than a tenner. Madness. I’ve taken to queuing in my local post office and buying stamps only when I require them, one at a time. If you knew the queue there as intimately as I do, you would appreciate this is a major sacrifice.

Q. I have been working in a large restaurant alongside a very attractive, although shy, girl. I live near the restaurant and she has come back for drinks on a few occasions. She seems to enjoy my company but I have been too feeble to take things further. I fear that if she does not find me attractive, by making a move I could ruin our friendship. What should I do? – Name withheld, London W6 A. Step one: buy a Feverscan forehead thermometer. This liquid crystal strip is held on to one person’s forehead by another, thus requiring a degree of physical intimacy. Step two: ask the girl to your flat along with another colleague. When they arrive, act slow-witted and explain you are feeling odd.

Worse for drink, and lonely in his Hollywood apartment, F. Scott Fitzgerald sat down to write a postcard. He began, ‘How are you?’, an important question as he was planning to send the postcard to himself.  Although he never sent it, perhaps he understood the magical ability of the postcard to cheer us up. They’ve been doing that since the first ones – plain cards bearing a pre-printed stamp – were introduced into Britain in 1870. It took time for the current format as we know it to develop: picture on one side and, on the other, a space for the address and some words. By the Edwardian period, 800 million cards were being sent a year.

Decline and brawl Sir: Gus Carter’s insightful portrayal of ‘Scuzz Nation’ (‘Streets of shame’, 10 May) is less of a howl of anguish about Starmer’s Britain than an indictment of previous governments of all stripes since the late 1970s. It is also, to me, a call for more sophisticated thinking about the nature of governance in the 21st century. Carter shows, using lots of telling examples that we all recognise, that neither the state in its current form nor the private sector can cope with the multiplicity of challenges posed by a modern society. Of the state’s impotence, the current government is not the principal offender. To illustrate my point, just listen to a week’s worth of the Today programme and all the requests for extra funding that are heard every day.

Tried to send a parcel lately? Or a letter? If it involves a trip to a post office, all I can say is, give it time. A fortnight ago, I was posting a book to a friend and took it to the nearest post office – the central, City of London one. It’s housed in a convenience store: handy if you want a samosa but lacking dignity, somehow. All the electronic terminals were out of action, four or five of them. The queue was patient but prohibitively long. Thinking bad thoughts about privatisation, I made my way to the post office in Kensington Church Street, which is a proper outfit; that was closed. I tried the Kensington High Street branch, but its machines were out of action too. I gave up.

At this time of year I’d usually be writing dozens of Christmas cards, with a Snowball to hand, heavy on the Advocaat. Many would be to people with whom I have no contact at any other time of year. It can be quietly meditative to write a note with an actual fountain pen to an old school friend or neighbour. But this time, in an abrupt break with tradition, I’ve bought just a couple of packets of cards. My list has been strimmed to include family, godchildren, a few very old people who’d miss receiving something in the post – and those to whom I can hand-deliver. The tradition of sending Christmas cards is under threat, not from e-cards or from Gen Z-ers who wouldn’t recognise an envelope if it gave them a paper cut – but from the price of a stamp.

Goodbye, Jeremy Each week I opened The Spectator at Low Life in part to read that brilliant column and, more recently, to see how Jeremy Clarke was coping with his deteriorating health. Always hoping the column would be there; that he had, despite excruciating pain, penned us another. Like very many of his regular admiring readers, I had found the last two weeks disturbingly sad and last week we learned that he has died and is free at last from his suffering. As an oncologist, during a career treating thousands of patients, at first ones with prostate and other urological cancers, and later ones with breast cancer, I have seen the ravages of metastatic cancer in its many and varied forms and observed how people cope in their individual ways.

So farewell, Transpennine Express, the northern rail operator whose hapless management were no match for the Aslef union that was determined to see this underperforming franchise renationalised. TPE’s drivers, beneficiaries of the super-luxury conditions I recited last month, have effectively invented a new form of moral hazard: have no fear of crippling your employer with outrageous demands and relentless non-cooperation, because if it goes down, the government will step in and re-employ you on the same terms or better. Aslef has more strikes planned nationally for 31 May and 3 June, and the other rail union RMT – having done its best to disrupt travel to Eurovision in Liverpool – says it may join in on the second date, which happens to be FA Cup final day.

Here’s a useful tip. Go to the Royal Mail website and you can ask your postman to collect letters or parcels from your home at a cost of 60p per item. You pay for postage online, print a label and book a collection for the following day. Granted, it’s an extravagant way to merely avoid a walk to the postbox, but for special delivery items or parcels it’s a godsend. If you don’t have a printer at home, you can even get your postie to bring a label. Given that Royal Mail was founded in 1516, I’m not quite sure why it took 500 years to come up with this particular wheeze, but better late than never. In the US, where they have mailboxes rather than slots in the door, postmen have always collected mail.

Borderland Few countries can have passed through as many kingdoms and empires as Ukraine — the ‘borderlands’. These are just a few of the political entities which have controlled parts or all of modern-day Ukraine before it became an independent nation in 1991: Scythian Kingdom; Roman Empire; Ostrogothic Kingdom; Bulgar Kingdom; Khazar Kingdom; Kievan Rus; Mongolia; Galicia-Volhynia; Poland; Lithuania; Ottoman Empire; Cossack Hetmanate; Austro-Hungarian Empire; Russia; Free Territory of Ukraine; Soviet Union. Schemes and scams The government hopes to raise £12 billion through the 1.25% rise in National Insurance contributions from April. How does this compare with money wrongfully claimed under Covid relief schemes? According to HMRC estimates: 8.

One of the many gems in the vast archives of the Post Office is a six-volume collection of letters from a Colonel Whitley in Head Office to the men (and not a few women) working across the country as postmasters. A former private secretary to King Charles II, Whitley effectively ran the nascent General Post Office for five years with conspicuous success. Those under his charge found him, as we might say, firm but fair. In a letter of November 1672, Whitley sternly advised one Mr Watts to crack down hard on a slipshod junior whom he had been foolish to employ on the mails.

The Royal Mail worker who rang my bell to deliver an Amazon package on Friday was wearing a glittery ball gown because she and her colleagues were fundraising for local hospitals: ‘Two thousand quid so far,’ she said cheerily as she accepted my donation and thanks. But if I had asked her what she thought of the performance of her ultimate boss Rico Back — chief executive of Royal Mail until his sudden departure after less than two years in the job — I suspect she might not even have recognised his name, so remote has this German-born, Swiss-resident big shot been from the front line of his organisation’s role in keeping us all in touch with each other during the lockdown.