heavy sky

As if the grey cold rain isn't enough: the constant nagging drag of a hefty bag on my right shoulder; sharp twinges shooting through my shoulder blades; the soul sapping monotony of the featureless streets populated by trolley trundling, shuffling old carcasses; the joyless meaningless contents of said bag: thick wodges of slippery Home Shopping catalogues, Readers Disgust (join a fucking library, read a real book!)..
Gardeners Fucking World. Today was a long heavy drag, man. To finally return to the 'office' to discover our benches filled (in our absence, it was a busy day. Wednesdays always go mental) with strapped towering bundles of 'bigger and better'(!) Sky mags, was the shit icing on the rancid cake. Sky Mags: the postman's bane. Monthly mailings of said Sky Mags are always a treat. Thousands of the weighty bastards, unloved and unread. Only now it seems they've grown (larger print?). Murdock's propaganda rag for his minions (most of whom don't read it I suspect, or at least struggle to). Royal Mail managers have to fill in a daily count sheet, tallying up numbers of missorts, empty Yorks (cages) etc...Sky Mags have their own box. They're the glossy bricks upon which Royal Mail is built. When Murdoch decides to do away with paper product and go online, well, I for one won't complain.
For now it never stops.