I am currently sending off The Novel to those pointy-headed demons known as “agents” so that they can ridicule me with their form-letter replies. Nothing new there. Except now I have exhausted all relevant agents and publishers in the UK who accept email submissions (about eight, all told) and have to move to the next step. This entails printing out a lump of the The Novel and actually posting it. In the mail. With a stamp and everything.
In theory, this is fine. In practise, it’s akin to an itchy case of pubic lice. You see, since the fine ladies and gentlemen of the publishing world will not reply by email even to say “piss off” to aspiring writers, I have to send them a stamped self-addressed envelope for the conveyance their hateful little notes. This requires that I either get hold of some British stamps to put on said letters, or else send international reply coupons.
And there the shit deepens. The Swedish post office stopped selling international reply coupons about ten years ago. “There’s too little demand,” they told me. Well, maybe, but aren’t you the fucking POST OFFICE? And if you don’t sell them in Sweden, who does? Nobody, turns out to be the answer.
So onto option two – get hold of some UK stamps. Which seemed easy to do via the Royal Mail’s site. I picked out my stamps, picked my country, paid with my Visa card, and got a confirmation mail. And then the next day I got a mail from a dude at the Royal Mail to tell me that unfortunately, they couldn’t sell me the stamps I had already paid for since I lived “abroad”.
But why, I asked, did your site allow me to buy stamps at all, since it asked me for my country, and I told it, before it TOOK MY MONEY? Our site is shit, the dude explained. So sorry, but no stamps today. Money shall be returned. And here, contact this office in the Royal Mail and they can help you.
I mailed that office. They never replied. Plus my money was not returned. I mean, Jesus on a hover-board, how hard can it be to buy some fucking UK stamps from the fucking UK POST OFFICE?
Deep breath. Right, the only other option (short of taking a Ryanair flight to London) is to find a nice English person and ask them to go down the road, buy a booklet of first-class international UK stamps, and post them to me. So that’s what I have been reduced to.
Please, blog readers in the UK, buy me some stamps and I’ll send you a number of shiny new shillings to cover their purchase and transport. Or else the story of two Irish expats in Stockholm and their sexual misadventures will never see the light of day at all. And that would be a bloody shame.