Dear Royal Mail

I do understand your present predicament and sympathise so, so feeply with you. (That was meant to be “deeply”, but I liked the typo.)

It must be very hard for you to even consider opening up a teensy little bit of the postcode data. You run a very tight ship where every penny counts. After all, every year, you make £1.5m in profit from the Postcode Address File. This income can then be used to offset approximately one thousandth of the total loss to the British economy incurred by your Genghis Khan-like approach to industrial relations.

Indeed, I feel a particular kinship with the founder of the Post Office, Mr P. Pat (pictured). Our new house looks a little like some of those on Mr Pat’s round, and it is only two doors away from the Post Office. Also, since we moved in earlier this year, I suspect our cat has been beating up Mr P. Pat’s black and white cat regularly.

However, may I kindly request that, bearing in mind your careful, some may even say jealous stewardship, of the Postcode Address File, that you start to actually use the fucking thing and deliver the fuck some mail to us that is meant for 11 Market Street, Charlbury OX7 3PH, rather than 11 Market Street Chipping fucking Norton which has an entirely different fucking postcode.

Thank you.