THERE is a myth which goes like this: for years, standards of public service in England were appalling, but in recent times things have got much better. It's baloney. Things are worse than ever.

A couple of examples from painful experience. One day last week we got no post. This is unusual to say the least, because my house is also the church office and we get roughly 15 items of mail every day. Anyhow, this particular day, I was expecting something important. So I rang the Royal Mail on the number given in the phone book: 020-7239-2165 only to hear the mellifluous voice (recorded of course) telling me: "The number you have dialled no longer exists. Ring 0345-740740."

So I rang 0345-740740 and I was answered at once by a real person who was politeness itself. He said: "You want your local sorting office. Ring 020-7239-2165." I told him that I had phoned this number already and been told that it no longer existed. "Well then", he replied helpfully, "I can give you an alternative number. Try 020-7239-5466." I thanked him and dialled that very number. It rang for five minutes without any answer. So I phoned back the one person in the whole of the Royal Mail's empire who had actually spoken to me. He said: "There is one other number - 020-7239-5144." So I phoned that. Another five minutes without answer. I hung up, totally frustrated.

Mind you, it's not just the public services which are so incompetent. A couple of weeks ago, I went to a national car hire firm to book a car for our holidays. I had been to this firm before, so I knew the sort of politbureau machinations one was likely to be asked to go through. I needed three forms of identification. Easy: I produced my passport, my driving licence and my credit card. The charming young woman at the desk said that my driving licence did not count as evidence of identity. "Have you anything else?" she asked, apologetically - obviously embarrassed by her firm's lunatic regulations. I produced my library ticket. "Has it expired?" she asked.

When it came to paying for the car, I proffered my Visa card. She said, "Sorry, we only take credit cards." I said: "But I've hired cars before from this very office and always used this card." She said: "Ah, but the rules have changed." Well, to cut a long story very short, I was eventually allowed to drive away in a hire car - after having been made to stand up against the wall, as before a firing-squad, and have my photo taken.

There is an interesting little postscript to this tale: earlier this year I went to Majorca. Before I went, I booked a hire car over the phone to Palma. "Certainly Sir, how do you wish to pay?" I read off the details of my debit card. No problem. I arrived at Palma airport and the representative of the car hire firm met me and handed me the keys to the car.

The car I hired in England, after so much circumlocution, cost £415 for eight days. The Majorcan car was only £90 for a week. No wonder foreigners laugh at the way we do business in England. What price "modernisation", Tony?

Published: Tuesday, August 21, 2001