Reasons why Fran misses her local post box
The post box on the corner of my street has been out of use for months. It's encased in black and yellow sticky tape that makes it look like a crime scene. This may well be the case. Perhaps some bored youth popped a lit match in there as his contribution to the wellbeing of his local community. Whatever the reason, the Royal Mail seem to have decided not to reinstate it and that means that if I want to post a letter or small parcel, I can't just shuffle down our small street in my slippers without my upper lip plucked. I have to don shoes, a jacket and some pretence of respectability for the ten-minute trek up the hill to the local shopping arcade where the next nearest post box is. My efforts are nothing compared to those my gran would have gone to. Her corner shop was only a few doors down yet she still applied perfect lipstick, her best coat and a fresh headscarf merely to fetch a tub of Blue Band margarine or a tin of peaches. 'Gran,' we'd say. 'It's
