I, little old me, of blogging obscurity, have just met Postman Pat! The actual, gen-u-ine, real deal, Royal Mail delivering funster himself!
And I am happy to report he didn't disappoint.
In fact, he completely smashed it.
Turns out that not only can the guy drive a red van while supervising the antics of a predominantly wayward moggie while delivering parcels, ON TIME, to people WHO ARE IN, he can also sing, dance and whip a crowd of pre-schoolers into a postal induced frenzy. Who knew? (They should definitely make more of his musicality in the TV programmes - alright, so he's no Anthony Wiggle, but he can undoubtedly shake it. A few well timed rumbas across the Yorkshire Dales and his fanbase would go through the roof)
It was a free show we found him in; which is no surprise when you weight up my physical description; I mean seriously, who'd pay good money to hang around with that? Yet Hollywood good looks aside, Pat was a game old chap. He loved it up there on stage. Couldn't get enough. The smile never once left his oversized inanimate head. He yodelled, jived and made over the top theatrical gestures as if there was no tomorrow.
Hasn't this fella got more, well...pressing work to be doing at this time of year?
I get it now. Now I see.
He's gone AWOL hasn't he? Just as we approach the busiest time of year for the postal calendar, what happens to Pat? He's swans off to jig around some two bit, low key town centre where he'll never be found until the Royal Mail heat is off him. Every December 1st, he packs up his Winnebago and hits the road for two months of binge drinking, crowd surfing and multi-storey car parking, with blatant disregard for Shopmobility parking constraints.
So now you know why your stamps have gone up.