I know who I am.

Did you used to play knocky-nine-doors as a kid? Where you rang the bell then ran away and hid giggling? It stil goes on, although these days it’s called Parcelforce

I have a love/hate relationship with the Royal Mail. All of the people I come into contact with in Morley sorting office are great, but the system sucks big time. From a reliable predictable service, it has deteriorated to the point where the delivery can happen at any time of the day and if you aren’t in then sometimes you can’t collect it until 48 hours later. (The excuse I was given was that the Postie doesn’t finish his round until the sorting office is shut again. The other version of this is that sometimes packages are reposted in post boxes and they have to go back to Leeds again to be re-sorted).

Last time I was in, I read this notice with bemusement.  It seems that the card they leave you isn’t good enough any more, they can demand other bits of proof to prove you are who you say you are. Why the hell is this? If I’m in, they don’t demand proof when I sign for something and unless I am a perticularly stupid burglar who goes round breaking in to steal red parcel cards then I remain who I would have been if I was standing on my doorstep.

Now the reality is that they only ask for ID to people who need to sign for something and their response to me is frequently “Hello Ian, I think there is something else for you in the back” and it looks a bit silly asking me for ID when they have just greeted me by name!

I do wonder, however, if they will be told to tighten the thumb screws once the “voluntary” national ID card scheme is rolled out? After all, a small plastic card is so much more convenient than many of these scrappy bits of paper.