‘Banter’ or general chat was never‘Banter’ or general chat was never my thing. But I’m learning fast. In the sorting office, the banter is constant and unforgiving. You talk as you sort. You chat to colleagues unseen. Behind you. To either side of you and even on the other side of the sorting frame in front of you. The accepted standard is 1970s sitcom, end of the pier, down at heel music hall. Pared down, cleaned up and generally amended for a modern workplace. If the talk gets too rowdy, a voice will pipe up. “Oi Fred, it’s 2025, keep that down!” Or it gets too close to the bone. “Oi Fred, it’s 2023, keep that down!” or “Sorry about Fred, he still thinks it’s 1975.” Everyone will laugh at Fred. Katie will start an innocuous topic. “What did everyone have for dinner last night?” Someone will have had something unlikely. And the banter wheel will turn once more: “Pot Noodle and chips? Mike had Pot Noodle and chips! Sharon, aren’t you sharing a van with Mike today? Better keep the windows open!” “Ian, what did you have for dinner?” “I had a ready meal from Waitrose.” “Oo, Waitrose! You must be working overtime!” On it goes. Luckily, I’m capable of drawing on deep reserves of ‘Terry and June’, ‘George and Mildred’ and ‘Porridge’ for inspiration.
I’m often reminded of Porridge. Those scenes where the prisoners bang on the dining table with spoons. ‘Narked’ by something the screws have done. In our case, posties bang on their metal letter frames with their hands. Until a hapless manager comes over the tannoy, asking us to stop. Met by shouts of “Who are ya? Who are ya?” and other chants lifted from the terraces at Oxford United, Forest Green Rovers or Gloucester Rugby.
THE COTSWOLD POSTIE 