For many years, windowed envelopes on the floor inside the door greeting my return were just post, regular bills and statements – part of everyday life.
The death of the Celtic Tiger did not have many spin off benefits. I suspect it did result in a greater demand for window envelopes (particularly the white variety) and possibly for authors of standard letters to non-compliant customers, that means me, and others equipped with similar oars.
The Celtic Corpse appears to have completed its rotting phase. The stench is no longer rampant. The loss is only felt in certain quarters. My stance on my own particular rug is firmer and getting stronger but the day that I might get of that surface and stand on solid concrete again is still a dream.
The window envelopes appeared like flies on a rotting corpse. Opening the front door for many recent years involved a sense of fear and worry as to those windows staring up at me. Those who were responsible for those windows entering the postal system to end up on the floor inside my door to await my anxious return stole the feeling that one’s home is one’s castle, a place of refuge - a once safe harbour, now under siege.
The, possibly silent, opinion that I am the author of those letters I received does have some validity. All arrangements and agreements were freely entered into, without arm turning or other influence. The initial wave of window envelopes did suggest calling to discuss but this particular ostrich declined that offer – no improvement envisaged so no offer available to those circling the cadaver – a strategy that has worked somewhat in that, for me, things have begun to improve, eventually. Not so much as to eliminate all problems but to give some wriggle room.
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As the rotting phase of the Celtic Corpse was approaching full term and as the vultures replaced the flies, the windowed envelopes gave way to recorded delivery, and that was even worse.
I fully appreciate that there are procedures and notification processes that may require a minimum number of letters and final registered delivery. I expect that such procedures and processes do not preclude advance verbal notice.
Imagine two different scenarios.
Option 1, where the debtor arrives home to that refuge after yet another day of struggle to spot a green notice on the floor of inability to effect recorded delivery and a reminder that the registered letter will be available for collection at the local office, some fifteen hours later, fifteen hours to contemplate what cannot be good news but wondering how bad; fifteen hours attempting to behave normally and happily with one’s family; fifteen hours in which to try to get a few minutes sleep; fifteen hours thinking of what might be the contents of that letter, who from, and what implications.
Option 2 is where there has been an earlier telephone call; a firm communication; notification that there has been no alternative but to issue letter stating whatever it says.
I have advanced here previously the benefit of writing and receiving a letter. I now qualify that with regard to registered letters.
In option 2, the worry and concern in that fifteen hours, or 63 if received on a Friday (not unheard of) is not pleasant. It is horrible.
If you are passing by this webpage , are still reading and have any influence over the issuing of such registered envelopes, I ask that you consider using the telephone to advise of its contents and that your organisation has now no alternative to this official correspondence.
The result to your particular carrion will be the same – recorded delivery will be effected, or at least attempted and noted.
The effect on the recipient will be polar opposite to lack of notice.
You already have the number. I ask that you use it. There are already too many that I know resident in graveyards.