The death of the Great British Post Office

I remember, as a little boy growing up in Coleraine, going into the local Post Office on Artillery Road or to the main Post Office in the centre of town to buy postal orders or, even more excitingly, to cash them.

They were quite welcoming places and, whilst you obviously had to queue, at least you knew what you were getting. For example, if you bought a first class stamp and posted your letter or card before 5pm, you could be certain it would arrive at its destination elsewhere in the UK the very next morning.

And then we turn to my visit to Bradford's main Post Office a few minutes ago.

There's a usually a queue there too, but such is life. However, there was no queue today, just a load of bored-looking people sitting around on newly-delivered soft chairs.

As I moved towards where the queue would normally be, I was stopped in my tracks by a harsh-faced woman who advised that I had to get a ticket.

For, yes, they've turned Bradford Post Office (and several others, I've since been told) into a cross between a delicatessen counter and Argos.

You now have to get one of those print-out slips from a machine - after entering the "purpose of your visit" - and then you're forced to watch your number move along a line on a big screen until it's finally called out.

And you get to witness its progress from a soft chair.

Indeed, for delicatessen and Argos, you could easily substitute a benefits office and a doctor's waiting room.

My ticket said there were 18 people in front of me requiring "counter services," and it took me 20 minutes to get called (not altogether a surprise given that only five of the 16 counters were open. The rest of the staff seemed to be walking around explaining that you had to get a ticket, don't you know).

But had I chosen to be a "special delivery" customer, I would have been "seen" a lot quicker. And ironically, when I did get served and explained I wanted to send my dad's birthday card "first class," I was told I would have to pay extra to ensure next day (i.e. "special") delivery. A first class stamp these days is 39p. To guarantee that my dad's card will arrive tomorrow, it cost me £4.95.

And once all of this was over, the woman behind the counter had the neck to ask if I wanted to apply for a Post Office credit card.

"Will I have to get another ticket?" said me.

"No, you can fill in the form now if you'd like," said she.

"No thanks," said me, again.

And walked out.

Sorry for being grumpy.