Dear Mr Postman

Boa Vista
Promise Lane
Hopeful

FR1 3ND

Christmas Eve 2012

Dear Postman,

I feel strange writing a thank-you note to someone I see every day yet only know as the mailman. For a year, you have been boldly walking up the neatly laid apron to my red front door, but never ringing twice.

All the same, thank you for last year’s service – delivering my letters.  I wish you a happy Christmas. The used, unmarked notes, enclosed are in appreciation of your performance and will help with those little extras we need at this time of year.

But, as I have taken the trouble to write you this letter, I thought I might ask a favour or two.

Firstly could I ask you to deliver fewer bills and junk mail next year, they only cause trouble with the bank account and clutter up the letter box. Over the year, I calculate that your mailbag would be over 5 kilos lighter if you just discarded them at the sorting office. Try delivering more, personal, handwritten letters instead; these I welcome. How did you feel when you opened this handwritten letter? Just imagine the effect on others if you were to deliver more handwritten, friendly letters!

Thank you for wearing your summer-time shorts. I like the navy blue ones best; they match your open-necked, light blue shirt and your dark blue winter fleece and matching woollen hat, red bag of letters and orange high-visibility jacket give you a decidedly military, special-forces appeal. Your mail delivery time around noon coincides with my break period; why not stop for a chat, remember ‘The postman always rings twice’. I have plenty of time.

On behalf of the cats and dogs of the neighbourhood, may I suggest that your whistling is an octave or so lower next year? Your unchanged signature tune, Colonel Bogey, is also rather annoying.

You may be surprised by the size of your Christmas box but I have included an extra £30 to cover the expense of replacing your trousers, which Fido, my new, pet Chihuahua tore into voraciously last week. He is young and always excited by your presence; aren’t we all? He is not the only one that wants to rip your trousers off.

Yours,

I Living-Hope (Ms.)