A postman in Harold has served the community for forty long years, and revealed how much he hated every last one.
Nigel Evans has worked for the post office since he left school at 16, and has been overlooked for promotion annually for the past four decades.
Batchelor Evans, now 56, is a familiar face in the village. Most residents occasionally notice him shuffling round the streets, or spend hours trying to console him as he sits sobbing on their doorsteps.
“Is this it?”, enquired Evans. “A certificate, one press photographer and a £30 book voucher?”
“Books are no good to me, I can’t read more than four lines now without seeing a post code. And look: some bastard has written ‘here’s to the next 40 years’ in the card. That’s psychological torture that is: why can’t they just sack me and let me be?”
Evans revealed that he would still turn up for work tomorrow just the same as he always has, out of financial necessity and and a deep-rooted habitual psychological dependence.
We asked Evans if he ever took his work home with him. He shook his head sadly and explained that in all his 40 years, no-one had so much as sent him a birthday card.
So what are his hopes for the future? “I suppose I could fall off my bike, or develop arthritis”, said Evans, with a slight twinkle in his eye. “Sometimes I dream of being bed ridden. Or a big war could break out, and things get so bad that people my age are enlisted. That wouldn’t be so bad, I’d love it if someone played me the Last Post.”