Dear Diary. It's a busy day at work, and even though my round takes me almost four hours, I'm the fifth or sixth postman to finish his round and get back to the delivery office, out of thirty postmen. One fellow postman says to me, "You did your round fast!" He's amazed. Usually, I'm shit and one of the last to arrive. But not today!

After work, I have an errand to run. I left my phone charger in Birmingham and my mom has posted it to me, but to the wrong address. She's sent it to the house I've just moved out of. So I have to go back there and see if they have my phone charger.

I didn't leave there on the best of terms. One day, the family were having a barbeque in the garden. I wasn't invited so I sat in my room. Music was playing, Disney songs. It was coming from the girl's room opposite mine. It was annoying and loud. I figured the landlord's 8-year-old daughter had left the music on by accident so I went to her bedroom and turned it off.

The next thing I knew, her mom was running up the stairs on all fours like the girl from The Ring. "How DARE you go into my daughter's room!" she screamed. "HOW DARE YOOOOOU!". She really was furious. I've never seen such fury before or since.

Immediately after that traumatic experience, I looked for a new place to stay. I left a few days later.

Anyway, here I am again. I ring the doorbell. That young guy, about 17, probably gay, opens the door (eventually).

"Hi," I say. "My mom sent a parcel here and I just wondered if it arrived?"

He looks around but couldn't find it. It's always a problem with my mail on them. Last time a little girl answered the door and told me her mom had sent my mail back. Jesus Christ. Why would you do that? She should keep the mail for me for a while longer, or indefinitely.

Anyway, I don't know where the parcel with my phone charger is. My mom says she didn't put a return address on it. Maybe it's in a landfill. I will call the Winton delivery office again tomorrow, though I have a feeling it won't be there. If it isn't I will go back to Graham's in a week. I can't understand it. It probably didn't fit through the letterbox, so it is at the delivery office? Or the postman opened the door and put it in the corner. All the fucking possibilities.

My mom phones me. She says she texted Graham. He texted back and said the postman left a "Sorry we missed you" card. He gave the card back to the postman and told them I wasn't living there anymore. The bastard. I only moved out a week ago, the least he could have done was keep hold of the card for me. Hopefully, the Winton delivery office still has it.