Five questions answered on the plans to sell Royal Mail

How have the workers reacted? What about the Post Office?

Today, Business Secretary Vince Cable announced that the government will sell Royal Mail. We answer five questions on this latest decision.

How will Royal Mail be sold?

The government will sell off shares in Royal Mail through flotation on the stock market. Employees will also be given 10 per cent shares in the business, which Cable described as "the biggest employee share scheme for nearly 30 years".

It is thought the sale will value the business at £2-3bn.

What has been the reaction to this news?

Mixed. Members of the Communication Workers Union (CWU) are opposed to the privatisation and have even threatened strike action. 

Workers are said to be deeply suspicious of the idea of a share scheme, according to the CWU, which represents about two thirds of the 150,000 workforce.

Business Minister Michael Fallon, writing in The Daily Telegraph, has said that now is the right time to sell Royal Mail.

Chuka Umunna MP, Labour's shadow business secretary, has said the government is opting for privatisation to "dig the Chancellor, George Osborne, out of a hole of his own making".

What else has Cable said?

"The Government’s decision is a practical, legal and commercial decision to put Royal Mail’s future on a sustainable basis," Mr Cable told MPs.

 "Now the time has come for government to step back and allow management to focus wholeheartedly on the business. This government will give Royal Mail the real commercial freedom it's needed for a long time.

"It cannot be right for Royal Mail to come cap in hand to ministers each time it wants to invest and innovate. The public will always want government to invest in schools and hospitals ahead of Royal Mail."

How well is the Royal Mail currently doing?

The postal service is currently undergoing a facelift, which involves focusing more on parcels and less on letters.

A boom in parcel delivery, largely due to internet shopping, helped Royal Mail more than double its profits last year after years of losses.

Does the sale include the Post Office?

No. The post office is a separate company to Royal Mail. The Post Office is the national network of branches that offer postal, governmental and financial services. Whereas Royal Mail sorts and delivers letters and parcels.

Royal Mail vans pictured parked at a Post Office depot in east London. Photograph: Getty Images.

Heidi Vella is a features writer for

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood