Pain is unpleasant. Knowing you’re death is going to be premature unwanted. Being bunged up through constipation is hell on earth. Trying to sort out postal redelivery when you’re deaf and can’t hear the door knock also becomes a challenge.
The main collection office in the town centre is completely inadequate for the disabled driver. Two spaces always full. Redelivery when I’m the only one in and can’t hear very well is optimistic. Or park hundreds of yards away and struggle.
Collection by others in the household possible, but usually only out of hours. Redelivery to Chris in Liverpool not allowed. Wrong post code. I don’t know the neighbours. Right post code!
It’s a challenge I’d never considered. I feel generally lost in trying to sort it out. Simple things I’d usually handle fine come along and occasionally overwhelm me.
I don’t think there’s anything particularly wrong with the Post Office procedures. But I do find myself struggling more to cope with everyday things.