Long a magnet to fat, sweet-craving children and people with inconclusively sized envelopes, the post office has been a thorn in the side of the local community for years.
“Some days, you can’t move for the queue of two or three pensioners bickering over who’s knees hurt the most”, complained farmer Dave Evans. “I have to threaten them with a muck thrower just to get to the e-cig shop.”
A detached dwelling with three bedrooms, the post office is located centrally in the village: a village with precious little housing for young families.
“That’s why it should become an estate agents”, said Evans. “They could then sell the post box to a bunch of twats from London. Once they’ve moved in, I can sell them organic sausages for 30 quid each.”