How I Got My Start In Journalism

…to be fair it ended shortly after…

I used to live in an old post office, a flat, that once upon a time had been the place where people bought stamps and weighed parcels and sent items. Once a week, without fail, for the two years I lived there, a shuffling old chap would arrive at the front door, his hand shaking as he extended an envelope. I’d take it, say thanks. Shut the door. Later that same day (always that same day) I’d take a stroll down the road, about 200m I suppose, and I’d pop the letter in the public mailbox.