My postcode - I counted the list, since I could not spot my house on it - contains 74 named houses and businesses, which are scattered over about a square mile. There are no road names. The houses appear to be entered in order of wandering round the village at random, rather than alphabetically, and because the hills are steep and sometimes there is a batch of houses in a clump, and sometimes there is a field full of thoughtful goats, even if you spot a house on the list that is close to yours, it won't necessarily be close on the list.
So, to find my house name, I have to scan all 74 names, usually missing my house a couple of times before I finally pin the dratted thing down. This is particularly irritating when I know perfectly well that the postman and the main delivery people who cover the village know where I live anyway, and would probably be quite happy with just the name. The other day I was off walking the dogs down Gunnislake way and a Citilink van pulled up to get me to sign for my parcel so he could drop it off at the house as it was a bit heavy for me to carry back with me. This is a higher level of planning than generally practiced by the postman, who just signs for stuff himself and leaves it in the porch.
Postcode lookup is not designed for here, where Bob is less our uncle than our webfooted grandfather and greatgrandfather.... Alas.
I stopped by the vet today and there was someone there with the tiniest cutest little goat ever, sitting on her lap. I was sorely tempted to pocket it. It did tiny tiny bleats! And it had cute tiny weird demonic goat eyes!