Letters to the world

Dear Mr Postman,
it appears that you do not always ring twice and this morning I am fairly sure that you did not even bother with the once.
I came down to find a note from you. I was a little touched that you had thought to write to me but your words were scrawled all over a piece of junk mail that was just about to be filed in the bin. Your lovely words told me that you had left a little something for me behind the grey box. Again I was touched, although it has to be said - a little confused, as most of the time you leave parcels out in the fresh air or worse - with my demented neighbour Irma Geddon.

I scanned the garden for a grey box and found to my dismay that there was not one. I hunted high and low and eventually found my parcel by the bin. Can I please point out that a bin is, yes, grey, but is cylindrical in shape and that these 'boxes' are usually receptacles for rubbish. The bin technicians (is that PC?) are also 'box' challenged and I was lucky that they hadn't whisked away my parcel to the Land of Dump.

I am not even sure why the parcel ended up at the binbox as it fitted quite neatly through that special hole that I have in the door. Goodness knows you have forced entry with far bigger items that would have required a return to the post office, squeezing and squashing them until they are no bigger than the stamp they were sent with.

I know I have frightened you in the past, greeting you at the door in my comfy bed attire and less than prepared 'morning' face, but it has to be said that I find that you have legs that were not designed for public consumption. Whoever decreed 'thou shalt wear the short shorts regardless of unattractive knees' ought to be hung up by their postal bags and left out in the rain.

So in future, if you wouldn't mind, please leave parcels in the blue box provided to the right of the front door that says 'parcels in here'. I have added a neon sign, bells and alarms to aid this process. In return I promise not to answer the door half nekkid and will refrain from staring at your less than adequate knees.

Nearly sincerely

Mrs Minx

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