A new regular has recently appeared on the horizon. We knew from the first time he came in he'd be a regular and he'd be a pain. There was something about him that my highly trained postmaster-sense (a bit like spider-sense but more interesting) went off. Obviously a few return visits have proved me correct.
The first time he came in, he asked if we could help him out with getting a bus pass. Easy. We gave him a form and told him to fill it in and bring it back with some id and photos.
The next time he came in, he asked if we could provide him with a bus pass. We gave him another form and more instructions. We then resigned ourselves to a run on our bus pass forms and many more visits.
The weeks went past and the bus pass forms were duly given out. As he became more comfortable with his lovely new local Post Office, he got chatty. This is fine when you're not busy and you're talking to someone who is both interesting and possessed of a functional memory. As you can probably guess, he fell into the catergory of not fine. Pretty far away from fine as it happens. In fact, bloody annoying.
As we got to know more about him (retired vicar, hence the title of this post) and a few more details the penny dropped and one of my colleagues remembered a phone call she'd had while at work. It was from a retired vicar who was looking for a nice village to retire to and had heard that this village was rather pleasant and could she recommend living here. Of course she could. It's great here. There's plenty of amenities and a lovely Post Office.
Bugger!
Needless to say, my colleague has been suitably punished for inviting this irritating twat to my (and it is mine) village.
I've been trying to put him off coming here by loudly taking the lord's name in vain whenever I see him. And talking about satan too if I can get away with it. It's not worked.
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