My new friend who runs the local sub Post Office seems to be having a spot of bother with unsolicited sales calls.
As I stood there waiting to find out how much it would cost to send a package to Barnes (Angela has been on at me for months to send her the latest Thanet property pages), our beloved postmaster ranted into the phone like a man possessed.
"You effing bloody idiots I've effing bloody told you you effing bloody bastards. You effing Talk Talk people have called me effing bloody seven effing times today, and I'm already bloody effing bloody with bloody bloody effing Talk effing bloody Talk. Now bloody eff off!" And with that, he slammed down the phone.
"Spot of bother?" I asked politely.
"It's bloody effing Talk bloody Talk, they been bloody phoning seven bloody times a day, bastards. And I'm already bloody with them."
Poor chap could barely compose himself to stomp upstairs in search of the padded envelope I required.