The UK postcode system is truly amazing. Its a complicated arrangement of numbers and letters, such that when you tell someone what it is (like the pizza delivery man or the bank teller), they type it into their little computer, and it can work out exactly what street and suburb you live in. The only other information they need is your house number. Pretty nifty.
This is fantastic in theory. But moving to hospital accommodation, without a tenancy agreement or any sort of documentation, means I had no idea of my address.
The only way I knew where I lived was to turn left out of my office, follow the road past the hospital education centre, and go up to the second floor to flat 31. No idea of the road or even the suburb. And google conveniently doesn't list my street as having any sort of name, other than "hospital".
The solution? One I wouldn't normally advocate, but desperate times call for desperate measures, especially when the pizza ordering man needs more information than "one of the second floor apartments next to the hospital education centre".
So, on the first day of my vow to make new friends, I had to steal my flatmates mail. I ran out the door, grabbed an envelope poking out of my flatmates door, and recited the postcode to Dominoes.
Then, after the phone call, I swiftly and silently opened the door to return the mail, Sydney-Bristow-in-Alias style, only to discover that the housemate in question had arrived, and was already in her room.
I haven't even met my flatmate and already I've stolen something from her.
Now I'm sitting in my room with some of her mail. Way to make a friend. But at least I have dinner on its way.
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