Thanks everyone. Here's the script for those who couldn't pick up all the dialogue:
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TOM: (OUT OF BREATH) Wait! Wait! Oh, thank goodness I caught you in time. Is that a package for me?
POSTWOMAN: No it's for the guy who lives in number 43, Tom Nolan.
TOM: Yes. This is Number 43. I'm Tom Nolan. Thanks.
HE REACHES FOR THE PACKAGE. THE POSTWOMAN PULLS IT AWAY FROM HIM.
POSTWOMAN: Woah, woah, woah, woah! What do you think you're doing there sunshine?
TOM: That's my package, I've been waiting in for it all morning so if I could just have it...
POSTWOMAN: Oh no, no. This is a "special delivery" package mate. And you weren't in when I tried to special deliver it just now. See? (She reads) "11.54am - no answer at door. F***'s sake."
TOM: Yes, I was on the toilet, I came as quickly as I could.
POSTWOMAN: Eugh!
TOM: Eh? No! I came to the door as quickly as I could, I wasn't having a - look can you just give me my package please?
POSTWOMAN: No can do mate. I'm obliged to follow your pre-arranged "if out" instructions. We have rules at the Post Office you know.
TOM: Yes I understand but I'm not out. I'm right here.
POSTWOMAN: Sorry. I've already written out the wee red card for you. See?
SHE HANDS HIM THE CARD.
TOM: You've drawn a cock and balls on it.
POSTWOMAN: Other side.
TOM TURNS THE CARD OVER.
TOM: (He reads) "11.54am - no answer at door. F***'s sake."
SHE YANKS THE CARD BACK OFF HIM.
POSTWOMAN: So I'm afraid it's out of my hands. I've got to leave this package in your nominated safe place.
TOM: Wait, so in order to guarantee my parcel arrives safely, you're not going to give it to me - in my hands. You're going to bring it round the back and leave it in my garden shed.
POSTWOMAN: (Studying card) Hmm. Doesn't say anything about a shed on here. Although you were warm when you said I'd be bringing it round the back.
TOM: I'm sorry?
POSTWOMAN: Well, according to these instructions your nominated safe place for all and any undelivered parcels, packages and padded envelopes - is up your own arse.
TOM: Up my - what? Are you having a laugh?
POSTWOMAN: Come on then bend over, I've got other deliveries to make.
TOM: I'm not letting you stick a special delivery package up my...what's the matter with you?
POSTWOMAN: Nothing the matter with me love, these are your instructions.
TOM: Look this is getting silly. There's no way I would have nominated my own arsehole as a preferred safe location for my missed post. There must be some mistake.
POSTWOMAN: The post office doesn't make mistakes. So if our customers start nominating their anuses... Anuses? Ana-susses? Ay-ni?
TOM: I don't think ay-ni sounds right.
POSTWOMAN: No me neither. Don't suppose it's a dictionary you're having delivered is it?
TOM: No, sorry.
POSTWOMAN: If our customers start nominating their bum holes as their safe location then that is to where we shall deliver. Now if you don't want this I'll have no choice but to return it to sender.
TOM: No I need that now! It's my new passport and I've got a flight to Bombay tomorrow.
POSTWOMAN: Only if this package catches a flight to Bum Bay today.
TOM: (GIVES A FRUSTRATED CRY) Ok, but... be gentle.
POSTWOMAN: I work for the post office sir. We handle fragile items every day. (She spits in her hand) Now bend over.
TOM FACES THE AUDIENCE AND BENDS OVER. THE POSTWOMAN MIMES EASING THE PACKAGE UP HIS ARSE. TOM WINCES.
POSTWOMAN: Easy does it...
TOM: Ow......Ow... Ow.
POSTWOMAN: Holiday is it?
TOM: What?
POSTWOMAN: Bombay?
TOM: No., it's a work thing. Ow. Might go on holiday next month. Somewhere warm. Maybe the Canary (high) IIIIS-lands.
POSTWOMAN: Sorry about that, some of these stamps are jaggy as f***.
TOM: Ow! Exactly how far up does it have to go before it counts as delivered?
POSTWOMAN: Nearly there. Deep breath. (Struggles) Hang on. There's something up here already? (Astonished) It's another package! (Gasps) A registered delivery package!
TOM: (INNOCENTLY) Oh. I wonder how that got in there.
POSTWOMAN: I knew it! These are your delivery instructions. You're that weirdo aren't you?
TOM: (PAUSE, MEEKLY) Yes! I admit it! I'm not ashamed! I'm a man trapped inside the body of a postbox.
POSTWOMAN: Is that... a thing?
TOM: It is now! They told me it was wrong. Wrong to paint myself red and cling to a pole outside corner shops with my trousers down. (Melodramatic) But that's who I am! I am a postbox and I need mail inside me!
POSTWOMAN: But why up stuff things up your arse? Would it not be easier to, I don't know, just eat junk mail?
TOM: (Faux proud) I hadn't thought of that!
POSTWOMAN: This is f***ed up. I'm outta here you filthy perv!
THE POSTWOMAN LEAVES
MAN: Tesco delivery for Nolan. Where do you want these jumbo cucumbers mate? Front door or round the back?
TOM LOOKS AT THE AUDIENCE COYLY, BENDS OVER
SLIGHTLY AND PUTS A FINGER TO HIS LIPS.