Nostalgia

Spurred on by the Royal Mail strikes, I recall that when I was a kid, not that long ago, there’d usually be a post delivery before I left for school each morning. And, most days, a second post around lunchtime too! Right now, we’re lucky if we get letters delivered once every 7-10 days.

Got me thinking about other stuff from my childhood that’s gone - like the milkman, and seeing bobbies on the beat.

Those things seem like they were from a lifetime ago, but they’re not.

What stuff do you miss from when this country worked - when things weren’t contingent only on fat dividends and ruinous pay for executives, or running public bodies into the ground? Is there anything I’ve forgotten that I should be pining for?
Post hasn’t changed much. My mates were all postmen. Worked about 4 hrs a day for a full days pay. One spent his break between morning and afternoon shifts going round to some lonely housewife’s house where she fed him sausage on toast and he fed her his sausage.
 
Post hasn’t changed much. My mates were all postmen. Worked about 4 hrs a day for a full days pay. One spent his break between morning and afternoon shifts going round to some lonely housewife’s house where she fed him sausage on toast and he fed her his sausage.
I recall that the Unity - opposite the main sorting office in Stockport - used to be known as the Postie's Pub because, having finished their rounds at breakneck speed, many of them would spend the remainder of the day propping up the bar. How times have changed.
 
Banks that only opened Monday to Friday 9.30-3.30
3 TV channels
One radio channel that divided for part of the day to play pop music or the Archers.
Know your place attitude that was accepted by all

The good old days. Yeh right.
 
Banks that only opened Monday to Friday 9.30-3.30
3 TV channels
One radio channel that divided for part of the day to play pop music or the Archers.
Know your place attitude that was accepted by all

The good old days. Yeh right.
Not only that but each night, at close-down, the BBC would play the national anthem. Then, when you came to turn the telly off (using the switch on the set incidentally), the picture would shrink to a little white dot before eventually disappearing.
 
Spot the ball. And seeing the result and thinking fuck off it was never there you cheating cunts, only to enter again, and again.
Then buying one of those ink stamps with a hundred tiny x's on it to cheat the system, which never fucking worked.
Doing the coupon, everyone knew the coupon man at work.
Dodgy newsagents that sold single ciggys to blatantly underaged teenagers.
Green shield stamps.
Proper apprenticeships, with "closed shop" unionisation.
Petrol pump attendants, "four four star please mate"
Squirt of two stroke oil in your fizzys tank, at the pump.
Maps.
Breaking your thermos.
Army and navy shops.
Electric car aerials.
Cheap, awful smelling cigars sold as being somehow sophisticated, hamlet, castella.
Brut 33, and old spice, designed to cover up the above.
Airfix kits.
Combovers
Storage of nails and screws in jam jars, smaller items in tobacco tins.
Tennis ball hanging from garage rafters, early parking sensor.
Push me pull you qualcast.
 

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