We had some flowers delivered at work today for a service up at the Crem. It doesn’t happen very often but these came through the post rather than via a florist. My colleague decided to un wrap them because we know from past experience that they usually need some surgery to replace all the bits that have fallen off during the journey.
The arrangement was in an old box, and had no sender details. It was so well sealed it needed scissors to get in it. Phew she said … it stinks. When she finally got it open Bogart, the Ranger and I hooted, but we had to explain to her what was so funny about it, she has obviously had a sheltered life!
The deceased’s profession was recorded as ‘a poet’ – we particularly liked the attention to detail revealed by the opium poppy heads. After a moments hesitation, and a brief speculation as to the current market value of the floral tribute, we decided it should go up to the service … but with the proviso that it is taken safely off the premises by the undertakers or family afterwards.
The more I think about it the more it makes me chuckle, the Royal Mail as a drug runner. Makes you wonder how much off it there is flying around in the post!