SOMETIMES, the burden of confidentiality lies heavily on the shoulders of Cousin Kate, the postmistress. As one of the focal members of a small community, she knows more than most what is going on in Beggarsdale - but her official position means she has to keep it secret.

For instance, she knows who is drawing a pension, a disability allowance, or income support: she doles out the cash every week and never says a word, even when some of the recipients of such largess ask to go on tick in the shop (not that this is an easy mission with Mean Mike, Kate's husband, running the retail side of things).

But sometimes this enforced confidentiality weighs down on our Kate so heavily that she is inclined to explode.

This, I am told, will happen to gunpowder when placed under enough pressure, even though no spark is involved.

But there was a spark this week, or more of a lightning strike perhaps, when the person to light the fuse was Teacher Tess, Kate's long standing ideological bogeyman - or bogeyperson, as Tess would call it in her role as LoCoPoCoThoPo (Local Commandant, Politically Correct Thought Police).

You see, Tess had decided to use the post office in its new role as supplier of foreign currency and called in on Tuesday to pick up her 3,000 euros (something over £2,000) for she and husband Tim's long holiday in the Dordogne.

She was in a bright and breezy mood, as she always is when school is out, and was obviously unaware that Kate had been smouldering ever since the order had been placed.

The reasons for this would not have been hard to fathom, had Tess been one of those people who, from time to time, considers the feelings of others she has dealings with.

For a start, Kate hates the euro, regarding it as the latest of a long line of Euro-threats to Britannia's rule, from Napoleon via Kaiser Bill to Hitler and de Gaulle.

She also thinks that £2,000 is a great deal of money to give to Johnnie Foreigner for although the post office/shop/news agency/off-licence is better placed than many others in the Dales, she is now making less profit than she did 15 years ago - and that's in straight cash, not adjusted for inflation.

But the hottest burning ember in Kate's resentment was the fact that she and Mike have not had a holiday proper for the same 15 years or so. Even when the post office section is closed for a couple of days over bank holidays, Mike keeps the shop open seven days a week, from eight until late - the main reason why Beggarsdale still has a post office.

So when Tess breezed in to collect her small fortune in Euro-dosh, she was walking into an ambush. Kate, of course, could not discuss the transaction in hand publicly - those confidentiality rules - but there was nothing to stop her raising matters of national debate.

"Going for long?" she asked amiably as Tess counted the cash.

"Not, not really - we can only spare five weeks this summer. A lot of things to do at school before term starts."

"Just five weeks eh?" consoled Kate. "See that education did well in the Chancellor's spending review. More billions for education, education, education. Must be nice for you and Tim."

Tess frowned, her warning antenna a'twitch: "All the public services did well."

"That must be nice for some that has public services," replied Kate. "In Beggarsdale, of course, we have no school, no bus service, the hospital is half a day away and the police are based on the moon. Yes, nice for some"

Bonnes vacances, Tess.

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.