Postman Pat

I think it’s time to tell you a bit more about my Dad. Apart from his penchant for a dildo up his bot (each to their own) there was far more to him than that.

When I was a kid he used to tell me about how he and his friends used to have cow pat throwing fights and how the cow pats depending on their freshness would crack and spread when they landed covering the target in cow shit. His mum used to take him to school and he’d run straight back out of the school gates and beat her home.

Despite his sophisticated childhood hobbies and his patchy schooling he fancied himself an intellectual.

My favourite thing he ever did was when I was in Primary school. We had a postal system in the school for Christmas cards and you could send cards to your friends in different classes by posting them in the wooden postbox on the classroom wall. It was the end of the school day. The postbox in our classroom was just out of my reach so on tiptoes with one hand I grabbed the box and used it to pull myself up and pop my cards in the box with the other hand. Unfortunately for me the box came off in my hand. Back in the 80’s teachers were still sneakily caning and rapping knuckles with wooden rulers. They were still mean. On seeing the box in my hand my class teacher marched over and grabbed me tightly by ear. Marched me down the corridor to where my father was waiting to collect me and informed him that his vandal daughter had wrenched the postbox off the wall and demanded he come to the classroom and fix it. In that moment he became my hero, my champion, he replied “on yer bike love that’s what your caretakers for” took my hand and we walked out.

I will never forget that day and how much I loved him for putting that horrible woman in her place. Unfortunately he doesn’t remain my hero to this day. Dildo or no dildo.

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