Mr Brocklebank: Why no post haste?

Dec 16 2008 by Mr Brocklebank, Liverpool Daily Post

I’M SORRY to say that Mr Brocklebank’s breakneck race in his brougham on Saturday to reach a Liverpool city centre post office was compromised on finding that lengthy queues would stop him reaching the counter before the 12.30pm closing time.

However, a cheery postman clearing the pillar box adjacent had calming words: “Don’t worry mate, none of this stuff will be shifted as there’s nobody at Copperas Hill until Monday morning.”!

Whatever happened to the edict that the mail – at Christmas or any other time – should get through at all costs? Whatever happened to hiring hard-up students, industrious housewives and energetic pensioners to shift the seasonal backlog?

Is that money now going to bonuses for fat-cat mail chiefs?

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IS THIS the age of the train, or of trains taking an age? Disgruntled Widnes Christmas party-goer of Aigburth writes to complain that, having decided not to drink and drive, he wisely consulted the good e-book, namely the internet train timetable.

With a 10.43pm Hough Green departure for Mossley Hill cramping his Chrimbo style, he opted for the 12.13am. An attractive 11 minutes to Lime Street, though, was somewhat off-set by a six-hour wait for the 5.43am connection to Mossley Hill. Clearly, computers have no concept of sleep whatsoever.

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FESTIVE tree-watcher, R Stephenson, from Wavertree, reports that Mr Brocklebank’s anxieties over the mysterious fate of “Metal Mickey”, the steel Christmas tree erected some years ago in Church Street to herald the brave new thrusting minimalist-Merseyside Yule, are unfounded. Verily, he says, the two steel trees outside St George’s Hall are, indeed, true sons of Metal Mickey. Rust on!, Sorry, rock on!

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ONCE again, Mr Brocklebank must advise motorists fed-up with problems of space in central Liverpool over Christmas to follow the example of those parking with impunity on the site of the former Georgian gem, Jamaica House, demolished on some spurious pretext, but now packed with vehicles every day enjoying this free, much-envied facility.

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AS A fellow of great modesty, Mr Brocklebank will not wish to steal the thunder when he appears for the carol singing at Our Lady & St Nicholas parish church of Liverpool at noon tomorrow, but he can assure readers of his weekly epistle that he will be there in both body and spirit, eagerly anticipating giving lusty expression to his favourite seasonal sentiments, in that light baritone which has in the past caused pink glows of pleasure to spread over the ears of female admirers. Hark! The herald angels sing, and God rest ye merry gentlemen.