Okay, so some people have to know my age. Car and holiday insurance, to name two. But now it seems I have a whole host of Big Brothers, who know everything about me (and furthermore, what they think is good for me).
When I reached a certain age, I was offered funeral plans, extra life insurance, and frumpy crimplene clothes. Great. The latest is an invitation to attend the opening of a 'Retirement Village'. Yes. A lovely new Retirement Village, into which I can totter when I can no longer manage these stairs (I've already been offered the stair lift). Worse still, they want me to RSVP if I CAN'T come! Dream on, Retirement Village. I'm not spending the price of a stamp on telling you I can't come to something I'm not interested in.
We old people know that a stamp now costs 12 shillings in old money. So there.
Showing posts with label junk mail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label junk mail. Show all posts
Thursday, 12 July 2012
Tuesday, 8 May 2012
The idiosyncracies of junk mail
OR
When you get to a certain age, the junk mail people, who seem to know all about you, start sending you nice little suggestions for planning your funeral, so that your "loved ones" don't have to bother. You can pay now if you want to, but I don't want to.
And then someone else - as this morning - sends you a catalogue of "activity clothing". Horrible lycra shorts, sexless bras, that kind of thing. I don't want those, either.
I wish they'd make up their minds. Best of all, I wish they'd all bugger off and leave me alone.
(Wonderful Rob has restored wonderful Old Blogger. For the time being...)
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