I feel sorry for the poor men and women who work at the Royal Mail depot in
Tooting. The heavily reinforced glass panel under which we push our cards is
plastered with posters reminding of the need for a form of ID, and urging
the general public not to punch, holler at, or set fire to the put-upon
workers who are “only doing their job”. Yesterday an Australian girl spent 5
minutes arguing with a chap who had the unenviable task of reminding her
that they only hold onto items for 3 weeks before returning them to the
sender. “But it was important!” she shrieked, while the dozen of us who were
waiting behind her all thought “Well, why did you wait a month before coming
to pick it up, then.” The postman was calm, and patient. “It goes back to a
depot in Belfast, and they forward it back to the sender.” But Sheila was
not placated. “I want a phone number for this Belfast office!” He replied
that he didn't have it, it's not an office open for public enquiries, and
the item would eventually get back to where it originated. She was furious.

“Trust the ENGLISH to make things so bloody difficult!” I don't know how
long she expected Royal Mail to hold on to her envelope. For ever,
presumably.

I like watching Question Time on BBC1, but only with a remote control handy.
Usually it's confused, rambling members of the studio audience that I need
to zap off the screen for a few seconds to replace with Watercolour Action
from Arkansas on Discovery Home and Leisure, but last night it was the panel
who had me lurching for the “channel up” button. Heather Mills-McCartney
couldn't get her head around the fact that it was a CHAIRED debate, and just
started talking loudly whenever a thought popped into her head. I don't
think Dimbleby ever once turned to her to ask for her views on anything,
because she'd already blathered on at length about how she had “spoken to
Bill Clinton” about it. I wanted Dimbleby to shout “shut up shut up shut up”
in the way he had to Martin McGuinness the previous week, but he didn't.
Maybe because Heather is attractive and just has one leg, I don't know.
McGuinness has two legs, you see, and doesn't have a modelling career behind
him. Johann Hari was nearly as irritating, but he's almost excused because
he's so young. “Put your brain in gear before opening your mouth,” my father
used to tell me when I was a lad. Would that Johann Hari had had such
excellent parental advice. Oh, and why do I always end up writing about
Question Time when the superbly-moustached Viscount Thurso is on?

Eat your heart out, .

*

The Free French's gig the other night is reviewed today on Channel 4's
teletext pages.

The Free French – Water Rats – 15/2/05

Petra Makela

What excellent taste Petra has. She actually thinks I'm talented, calm,
confident, quality, interspersing, passion, demeanour, vast, who, a, and of.

Got my Hall and Oates tickets, at last. Row O, seats 51 and 52. I will
undoubtedly be sitting behind the only person who feels the urge to get up
and dance to “Private Eyes”.