The future of journalism
Dedicated blipper that I am, to prepare for a forthcoming voyage on my canal boat and to avoid the need for any back-blipping, I have ordered a device for loading photographs on to my iPad.
Of course being an Apple product, delivery doesn't come via the Royal Mail but by a private mail operator. Also, being Apple, they will not allow the product to be pushed through the letter box or left with a neighbour or in my greenhouse. It has to be signed for.
Not being in when they tried to deliver, I had to visit the mail firm's website and choose either to collect or have it redelivered. I chose to collect it, from their premises at Trafford Park. I drove there today, with the requisite two forms of identification.
"Ah" the chap said "it is on a lorry being redelivered."
"But I visited the website and said I would collect it."
"OK, I'll have a look."
He did.
"Oh, so you did."
He then rang the driver and asked if he could deliver it when I get home later. He said he would "try." But otherwise I would have to call back tomorrow.
Well, he didn't so I will.
But on my way home I started noticing some interesting buildings on the vast, maze-like, Trafford Park Industrial Estate. They included this old, seemingly closed, Hotel.
And my blip, glimpsed as I drove for the motorway entrance.
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