On another shitty rural this week.
It took me four and a half hours today. I had a crappy golf trolley thing to pull about. Have already been told all the usual crap - it's an easy walk, blah blah, so-and-so is home by yadda yadda. Living twenty metres from his last delivery point probably helps him there, and as for finishing early, using his car, running around, and then getting injured enough to be off work 'ill' has probably helped him in that respect.
But I digress. Everything is all over the place. I hate it. It's like walking in a maze half the time. If you know it, I'm sure it's a piece of mother frakking piss. But I don't know it. I've never been back on myself so many times in my life. Frankly, it's laughable that I can be put on this walk, in a village I have never even entered in my life, without a day's training. Post went in all kinds of places - I couldn't possibly say they were the right ones (nor could I say that I care).
Dead walk, dead walk, dead walk.
Fitting about as logical as a chocolate tea-cup.
One street, I walked from 60 to 30, then had to go to 59 (down to 31), then went from 28 to 2, before having to go back up to 29 and down to 1. I didn't even bother looking at the fitting because I had no idea what the frak was going on; named houses all over the shop, shops all over the house, flats all over the bastard, etc.
I kind of presumed it would follow on sensibly so I bagged it up as well as I had been advised.
But no, just a complete load of rectal fudge.
I'll have a better idea tomorrow but that's not really the point. This is the kind of walk that requires a certain level of local experience, knowledge and know-how, which I don't have. Not that the managers care.