The Adventures of Post Man Gordon – Gordon saves the day!

The Adventures of Post Man Gordon - Gordon saves the day!

Gordon was running late; he’d dropped his van keys down the river bank which ran by the side of his house and had spent what seemed like ages, trying to pull them out of the muddy, weed infested bank with a creation he’d made from an old metal coat hanger!

Finally, he hooked the keys securely onto the hanger arm and was then able to hook them up the bank and be on his way.  As he drove off whistling an unnamed tune, he thought to himself how like Postman Pat he really was; all he was missing was Jess, the black and white cat!  Perhaps he should get one, he mused.

“Morning Claire”, he called from his window as he went about his route. “Mind you save me a Jaffa cake, if you’ve any left!” Claire was his sole supply of Jaffa cakes, which she gladly offered to him ever since he showed her the delights of the multiple letter box when she was delivering the Parish Newsletter and thought that she had to deliver each one individually to each resident of a large block of flats!

By the end of the morning, all his letters were delivered but he still had a large package to deliver to Signorina Valentini, right at the very end of the village.  It wasn’t usually down to him to deliver such large parcels but they were short-staffed at the sorting office and so he offered to deliver this one, seeing as it was so close to home.  He drove up to Daisy Cottage but was sure no one was in.  The windows were closed and Signorina Valentini’s bike wasn’t in its usual spot by the shed door. As he got closer, Gordon saw white paper flapping about in the breeze, on the grass.  He jumped out of his van, but the wind whisked the paper away, down the lane.  Gordon chased after the paper as he hated litterbugs and couldn’t bear to see his beautiful village spoiled by such mess!

Signorina Valentini was originally from Sicily. As a child, she was taught to sew by her beloved Nonna (grandmother) and by wearing some of her fabulous creations around the village, her work was becoming more and more popular, with local women (young and old) asking her to make outfits for them. It was taking off to such an extent, she had started to order material and pattern paper online; items which are bulky and didn’t fit through her letterbox. This had become a problem as she also helped at the local primary school and so isn’t always at home when some of the packages arrived.

On this particular day, Signorina Valentini was beside herself, as she’d promised Elvira Mortova of Grey Towers, a beautiful dress for an extremely special occasion – what that occasion was, she didn’t know as she had not been party to that information, much to her irritation. All she knew was that it had to be perfect!  The material was due to arrive from Paris that day, but she had promised to teach year 6 five new words in Italian; settimana (week), anno (year), oggi (today), domani (tomorrow) and ieri (yesterday), as part of their ‘getting to know Italy week’ at school.  In an absolute panic, Signorina Valentini had written several large notes, in broken English, and stuck them to her front door, back door and gate.  “I out. Sorry. Please bring package to scuola skhool.”

“I’m getting too old to chase litter around the village” grumbled Gordon as he eventually caught up with the errant paper and stamped on it to keep it from moving off further.  As he picked it up, he read the message. “Well I never”, he thought, “Signorina Valentini must need this package really urgently.”   Gordon took the sheet back to the cottage and opened the gate.  He rescued the other pieces of paper, all with the same message.  “Thank goodness, I found these.  It was highly unlikely the parcel service would take the packages up to the school,” he muttered to himself.

Gordon got into his van and drove to the village school.  The children were playing in the sunshine as he pulled his van into the car park, carefully avoiding bats and balls which had somehow found their way out of the boundary.  He moved towards the entrance and pushed the buzzer to announce his arrival.  Betty, the school secretary, came to the door with her hands out for the post. “Not for you today Betty. I’ve an urgent package for Signorina Valentini. Is she about?”  Gordon certainly didn’t expect such a welcome as Signorina Valentini flew across the corridor.  She was absolutely delighted that Gordon had been thoughtful enough to act on her note, but also told him about her concerns as to the delivery of packages when she wasn’t at home.

Gordon thought for a minute and then asked her if she’d heard of Letterbox4you.  “No” she said rather bewildered. He explained that they were an online company selling freestanding parcel boxes, “Just perfect for you” he said, “and really easy to buy online.  As it’s freestanding you can put it wherever you want.  Once you choose the spot, I’m happy to come over to help you secure it safely and then you’ll never have to worry about missed packages again!”

Signorina Valentini grinned from ear to ear; she felt that a parcel box was a worthwhile investment for her business and went online to order as soon as she got the opportunity. The box was delivered within the week and once secured, Signorina Valentini received parcels galore ensuring her sewing business went from strength to strength.  She was sew glad to have a friend like Gordon!

 

The Adventures of Post Man Gordon – Scampering Paws Animal Rescue Stop a Serial Escapee

The Adventures of Post Man Gordon - Scampering Paws Animal Rescue Stop a Serial Escapee

It’s a bright sunny morning when Gordon the Postman reaches Scampering Paws Animal Rescue. He is very much an animal lover so quite enjoys his daily visits. His wife lives in a state of near terror that one day he will actually arrive home with a sick tortoise or a lame cat that he was unable to resist. But so far, he has stayed strong in the face of not inconsiderable temptation!

Before opening the gate, he carefully checks to make sure there aren’t any loose animals that might get out. He then slides in, shutting the gate behind him.

“Morning Sylvia” he calls across to a lady currently lugging a huge bag of something across the yard. “Do you need a hand with that? It looks heavy.”

“Ooh, no. I’m fine. Thank you though.” She replies.

A bright flash of orange suddenly shoots across his vision.

“Woah! What was that?” He exclaims.

There followed a stream of largely unrepeatable words that made Gordon blush, but the general gist of the flow was that their latest rescue, a sighthound, had once again managed to get out of her kennel and was making a bolt for freedom. “We’ve called her Shawshank after the prison escape movie. I have never known a dog that so wants to run. And coupled with some excellent Houdini-like techniques she has properly tested our fences at least twice a day since she arrived. So far, she hasn’t made it out but we are doing an inch by inch check later because she does seem to be able to squeeze herself through the most tiny gaps.”

Sylvia was then seized with a panic “Oh no! Gordon the gate! Did you close the gate?”

“Of course” Gordon reassured her “I always close the gate. Ever since the Alpaca chased me back to the van I’m a bit wary.”

“Ah yes, Wendy. She was a feisty one. She’s living with 2 other Alpaca in a farm by the coast now.”

“You know you should really have some kind of double gate or air lock type thing just in case. I’m careful but I bet not everyone who delivers things is as careful as me.”

“You’re right of course. It’s just money isn’t it? We always spend donations on food and vets first and then if there is any left we might think about structural work.”

“I know. Can I at least help you catch Shawshank before she finds a gap? What does she like – toys, food?”
“Running. Honestly. She’s not much bothered by food, I’ve tried bribing her with everything from dog food and cheese to smoked salmon and steak. She’ll wear herself out eventually and need a drink and a snooze. We’ll get her back safe. I wonder how she got out of her kennel this time?”

The answer to this mystery was soon solved. As they walked up to the Kennel block they met Angie who was flapping about. “Over the top! She went over the top of the door, it’s 8 foot for goodness sake. What dog can jump that?” Apparently a very determined one that had dragged a bed over for a leg up. Gordon didn’t know whether to be impressed or slightly scared. “that is one seriously smart dog” he said.  

As Gordon continued on his rounds he pondered. He wondered if Shawshank had been found and returned to her kennel. And he wondered if there was anything he could do to help. And then he had an idea.

Three days later he returned to Scampering Paws.

“Morning gang!” he called cheerfully as he carefully slid himself through the gate, closing it firmly after him. He cast his eye about for an orange streak of dog but saw nothing.

“did you get her back OK?” he asked.

“Yes. Eventually.” Sylvie walked over to him smiling. “She did about 10 very fast laps of the yard, put the fear of God into the chickens (but didn’t catch any, luckily) and then jumped on the stable roof and had a kip in the sun. We got her when she woke up and came down.”

“Wow. She is some dog!”

“She surely is. She’ll be a fair handful to take on though for her new owner. We’re just not sure she’ll ever learn to come back. But it’s early days. She has the nicest nature. We don’t give up!

Is that a parcel for us?”

“Yes.” Said Gordon. “Actually, it’s a gift.”

“A gift? How nice. What is it? Who’s it from?”

“Well, thinking about your gate predicament, I don’t know how much a double gate and fencing will cost. A lot I guess. But I did think that fewer people would have to use the gate (and potentially leave it open), if you had a postbox on the gate. And I know some people in the village that have rather nice ones – Letterbox4You they are. So, I mentioned your predicament to a few of my lovely animal-loving customers on my rounds and we had a bit of a collection. And we got you a letterbox for the gate.”

“Oh my God, that’s amazing! Thank you so much.”

“It’s nothing. Honestly. And I’ll come back after my rounds Saturday and install it for you.”

So as well at the rescue centre being a little bit more escape proof, Gordon also found himself a little further away from temptation not having to walk through the yard each day. However, this was rather locking the door after the horse had bolted. You see his wife decided to join him when he went to attach the letterbox and she rather fell in love with a speedy orange dog that on Saturday was on her best behaviour and dolling out cuddles and looking innocent. So, Shawshank now has a new home to try and escape from and Gordon has banned his wife from ever setting foot in Scampering Paws again.  

 

The Adventures of Post Man Gordon – The Case of the Missing Keys

The Adventures of Post Man Gordon - The Case of the Missing Keys

Clinton University is an esteemed educational facility and well renowned for its academic success in the Humanities, Arts and Languages. This is what parents reassured themselves with as they wrote out cheques for their offspring. Said offspring were, of course, very interested in the academic side of things but also wanted to be sure that they had rounded education and saw some of the local colour and experienced living away from home for the first time properly. Basically, they wanted to have a good time and make the most of their new-found freedom.

On Oak Street one of the biggest Halls of Residence was managed by Tom. He was a caretaker, facilities manager and all round useful person and staff and students alike were very fond of him. One of his many, many tasks was taking the post from the campus to all the various halls of residence and popping them into the multiple letterboxes in each hall. The students would then, eventually, collect their mail. Tom occasionally felt the need to remind them to do this – most got almost all their correspondence on their phones by one or other method so an actual paper letter was quite a rarity. Tom recalled the days when students would queue up excitedly for their post in the main post room as it was their main connection to home. He remembered one girl had a boyfriend at home who sometimes sent her 12 letters a day! Those were the days, he thought. Now it’s just Facebook and Snap Chat and WhatsApp.  No romance at all.

He also remembered a time when people with a problem would have to book to see him at set times. Now, he had a work mobile and there was no escape from dripping taps, stuck windows and flooding toilets. But he enjoyed his job and often regaled his friend Gordon with tales of what the students had been up to lately. Recent pranks that contravened at least 3 health and safety rules included students dangling out of the window of the 4th floor with a clothes hanger on a string. The idea behind this was to scrape the window beneath and scare the wits out of the occupant of that room who they knew to be watching Poltergeist which was on TV. It worked. There is a wine stain on the ceiling to prove it as she jumped 3 foot in the air whilst clutching a glass of red.

But most days were more mundane.

“I’ve lost my post key” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “It was on my desk and now it’s not. C’nave another one?”

Again, Tom sighed. The students seemed to more or less manage to keep hold of building keys but it was completely beyond them to keep track of the little keys that opened their post boxes.

“This is your third time! I’ll have to charge you if you do it again. They don’t grow on trees you know! What number are you?”

Later in the pub, Tom said to Gordon “I think I might have to start hanging them round their necks you know. Or perhaps they could have them integrated into a suitable piercing?”

“A bit drastic!” Gordon said, “but it must be costing a fortune keep replacing them all the time”

“It is. And in the meantime, while they are on order they keep getting me over with my master key to get them into the post-box. Like I’ve nothing better to do.”

Tom put up a notice: PLEASE LOOK AFTER YOUR LETTERBOX KEY. REPLACEMENTS WILL BE CHARGED AT £25

“Did it work?” Gordon asked.

“Did it heck” Tom sighed. “But now instead of just saying they’ve lost it they’re coming up with the most crazy excuses which take me time to listen to. Anything to try and get out of paying.”

“I might have a plan if you think the Uni will go for it”
“Go on. This is driving me nuts. They’re telling me now that a ghost is stealing letterbox keys because of a dead postman or some such. I can’t bear to listen to the garbage anymore. It’s not even that inventive. What happened to young people’s ability to spin a good yarn?”

“I dunno. But how about a combination lock on them.”

“No keys you mean?”

“Well, there’s a master key for you but everyone else has to use a pin, which they set themselves. Letterbox4You sell them made especially.”

“They’d forget the code!”

“Well, possibly. But most of them have a bank card, they manage to remember that”

“hmmm. I like it.  It has to be better”

Tom put his business case to the university and the new, combination lock letter boxes were installed over the next holiday. Tom was still to be seen running about the campus, a slave to his phone and the endless list of tasks. But there weren’t quite so many post boxes in need of a spare key of tales of hauntings and mysterious disapearances.

The Adventures of Post Man Gordon – Elvira and The Secluded Mansion

The Adventures of Post Man Gordon - Elvira and the Secluded Mansion

Gordon, our hero postman was doing his Tuesday rounds as normal. He’s interested to see a removal van heading slowly down the road and turning into the drive of Grey Towers, a large and secluded house set well back from the road. He has never delivered any post there. It has been empty for as long as he has been doing this round, so years. “Oh, how exciting” he thinks “how lovely to have new house to deliver to”.

But despite the signs of new arrivals, there is still no post for Grey Towers. Not that week, not the week after or even the week after that. “How very peculiar” Gordon thinks as he passes by without so much as a catalogue for the new arrivals.

It is in fact nearly a month before he spots in his post bag the first letter for Grey Towers. It stands out, not only because it is the first but because it is a handwritten envelope of very expensive paper. The writing is the most beautiful calligraphy and the letter is addressed to Elvira Mortova. Gordon excitedly sets off in his van to complete his rounds, looking forward to his first visit to Grey Towers.

He gets to Grey Towers and sets off down the drive with some anticipation. He’s never actually seen the house itself, the drive is so long you can’t see the building from the road. As he gets to a bend in the drive, he reaches a very new-looking full-height fence and gate between him and the imposing looking house. Pulling to a stop he gets out and walks over to the gate to press the buzzer to go through.

However, either the buzzer is broken, or no one is at home. He presses it a few times with no response.

“Well, that’s a challenge” he muses “I can’t get in to deliver this. I can’t leave it here and neither can I leave a “Sorry I missed you” card as there is nowhere dry to put it. What am I going to do?”

He gives it another moment of thought, tries the buzzer one last time and reasons that he’ll just have to try again tomorrow, he can’t leave anything out in the wet. He pops the beautiful letter on his dashboard and heads off.

The following day, the same thing happens. He buzzes, no one answers, he has to give up.

On day three, he is starting to feel a little bit miffed. This is as cross as Gordon ever gets, nice guy that he is.

On day four, the gate opens!

Gordon gives a little fist pump and scoots back into his van to drive down the remainder of the drive to the house.

As he gets out of his van at the front door, he feels a little nervous. The house really is quite, well, spooky looking. The front door is vast, both in width and height and as he heads towards it, it opens totally silently in front of him.

“er, hello?” he calls tentatively “anyone there?”

“Yes” a voice whispers and a tall, slim woman glides towards him. She’s dressed in a pale floaty outfit and is incredibly pale but has the most entrancing face.
“I’ve got a letter for you” Gordon says, “I’ve had it since Tuesday, but no one answered the buzzer”
“Oh, I am so sorry” the woman whispers “and you’ve been back every day trying to bring it to me. How kind.”
“Just my job, it’s no bother” Gordon says, she really is a stunning woman. The most amazing eyes. He can’t seem to stop looking at them. He could look at them all day he thinks, like a tiger, or maybe a lion….
“I don’t like to be disturbed” the woman was saying. As Gordon snapped himself back to attention.
“Sorry? What? Oh, of course. That’s not a problem but there’s nowhere to put the letters see?”
He was bumbling. He could feel his ears turning pink as she gazed at him calmly.
“May I have it?”
“What?”
“My letter, Gordon, may I have it?”
“Oh. Yes. God. Sorry. Here” (“How does she know my name? Why can’t I talk in sentences anymore? I feel a bit funny.”)
He hands over the letter and she takes it so gently it is almost as if it floats out of his hand.
“Gate post box” he blurts
“I’m sorry?”
“You need a gate mounted letter box. A post box mounted on the gate? Then I wouldn’t need to buzz, I could just put the post in there and not bother you”
“Oh. Oh, what a lovely idea. I do so dislike interruptions during the day. I sleep a lot you see”
“Yes, that’d do it for sure. Get a letterbox on the gate and you can just get your post whenever. It’d be loads easier for you”
“Why Gordon, thank you. For the letter and that very clever idea. I’ll let you go now.”
“Go? Yes. Oh yes, thank you. I’ll go” and Gordon finds himself back at his van without really remembering moving his feet at any point. The gate opens ahead of him and he heads out shaking his head and considering giving his face a little slap to bring him back into the real world.

As he goes up the drive, he looks in his rear-view mirror and to his utter amazement, sees the gate now has a letter box fixed to the outside of it. That wasn’t there before? It really wasn’t? Was it?

The flat conversion and rear access post boxes

Gordon the postman is out on his deliveries. He’s already bumped into Mrs Fenn from number six and given her slightly psychotic-looking poodle one of his dog treats (Gordon is very popular with dogs on his round – he has been known to pop a Bonio through the door along with the mail to his favourites so they all look forward to his rounds in case today might be their lucky day!)

As he heads up Broughton Street, he sees Mr Carver looking rather vexed in front of his house. This isn’t out of the ordinary, Mr Carver has decided to turn his rather large detached house into five probably rather poky flats. The building work is, as building work is wont to do, taking longer than anticipated and therefore costing more than it should. So Mr Carver frequently looks vexed as he negotiates deliveries, coordinates various trades and attempts to make everything work together.

On this particular morning, Mr Carver looks rather delighted on seeing Gordon, quite possibly because it is a good excuse to stop and have a chat without the entire site team all joining in and downing tools for a brew at the least excuse.

“How’s it coming Mr Carver?” Gordon asks, “all on time?”
“Oh is it heck” Mr Carver sighs “the glaziers have broken down the other end of town, the sparky’s got delayed on another job and three of the lads who should be doing the roof have got flu.”

“Goodness, nightmare. Anything I can do to help?”

“Don’t suppose you can fit a window or six in your van?” Mr Carver joked

“Of course I can!” Gordon said, “I’ll need to finish my round but after that I can go and get your glass, no problem”

And, true to his word he came back to Broughton Street after making his last delivery, picked up Mr Carver in the van to collect the glass.

“Thank you so much, Gordon” said Mr Carver as the glass was unloaded back at the site. “I really appreciate it. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, you just have to say the word.”

“Well…” said Gordon. “You know, there is something.”

“Anything” Mr Carver exclaimed

“Well. I don’t really like delivering to flats. It’s very annoying traipsing up all the stairs and takes ages. But you could help me out by putting in a decent multiple letterbox downstairs.”

“I don’t know anything about them. What is one of those?”

“It’s a bank of post boxes. There are loads of different ones. My favourite are rear access mail boxes. They are mounted in the wall or the front door of the flats, a bank of five you’d need.  I just walk up to the front door, pop the post in the right number flat’s post box – bish, bash, bosh, done. The tenants then unlock their box from inside and take out their mail. It’s brilliant. Dead secure, no stairs for me and no horrible flyers littering the front entrance hall making the place look untidy. Have a look at Letterbox 4 You, they’ve got loads. Do it now and I reckon the builders can fit it while they’re here”

“Gordon, that sounds brilliant. Not so much a return of a favour for you as a great idea for me. I’ll place the order today”

“I look forward to delivering here then! Hope the build gets better soon.”

And Gordon went on his way.

Adventures in Deliveries

Gordon, our heroic postman was making his rounds a little later than normal on Wednesday.  There had been a power cut at the sorting office. Gordon and his colleagues had had to navigate in the dark to their delivery piles. They were aided only by mobile phone torches and one head torch which had been appropriated by Ethel and was therefore no help to anyone else as she was only 4 foot 2 so the beam shone well below anyone else’s eyeline.

But Gordon was nothing if not adaptable and he set out on his rounds as cheery as ever.

As he made his way up Davis Row, he realised he was catching up with a lady pulling a shopping bag on wheels who was popping things through letterboxes ahead of him.

“Hello” he said perkily as they met on the path at number 7, “Lovely morning for a delivery”

“Oh yes” she said, “But I’d no idea it was such hard work! Claire.” She introduced herself. “I had some time on my hands and I thought I could do with a bit of extra exercise, so I volunteered myself this month. But I’m shattered already and I’m not half way done.”

“I’ve been at it a few years now. It’s alright once you get used to it.  What are you delivering?”

“It’s the Parish Newsletter. You know the one with all the fêtes and the full results of the allotment jam competition and the phone number for Gerry at the church hall?”

“Ah” Gordon said “I don’t live here but I think we have a similar thing. Many more to do?”

“I’ve been at it hours” she said despondently “I’ve had my fingers trapped by springy letterboxes, I’ve had dogs launch themselves at my hand as I’ve pushed it through and I’ve bent down and up so many times I’m quite dizzy.”

“You get used to it. Honest! And then you get some really good letterboxes and it makes all the horrible ones worth it”

“I’d no idea until today there were horrible letterboxes. I’m now wondering what mines like! I’ll have to check later.”

The two continued on their way together companionably with Gordon very nobly tackling the most bitey-looking options and Claire chatting away beside him. They turned into Green Acre Drive and he heard Claire give a groan. “Flats” she whispered, “Not flats! Not stairs. I can’t face all those stairs!”

Gordon’s eyes twinkled as he held open the door in the first block of flats. “you wait” he said.

Claire’s eyes lit up as she saw a bank of letterboxes at the back of the hall. “Oh!” she gave almost a squeal of delight “they’re all together! Look at that!” and she merrily stuffed a newsletter into each slot. “this” said Gordon “is the delight of posties everywhere. A multiple letterbox. A thing of beauty and ease for all concerned. Your face quite made my morning! Stairs, pah!”

“I’ve never been so pleased to see a, “multiple post box”, you call it? Oh, what a treat. Would you like a Jaffa Cake?”

Gordon certainly did like a Jaffa Cake and gratefully accepted before saying he needed to press on and keep up the good work. “Oh yes. I will, thank you. Once I’ve done another 20 I shall have earned a second Jaffa Cake” and she trotted out to the next block.

Merry Christmas from Gordon!

Gordon the Postman was making his way up Greenhill Lane. The houses in this street seemed to have a competition to see who could put up the biggest, brightest and flashiest Christmas decorations. Number Ten was probably the current winner, Gordon mused, they had a lawn full of plastic elves with parcels, an entire team of light-up reindeer galloping across the roof and a blow-up Santa of quite epic proportions poking out of the chimney.

He trotted across the lawn with his stack of mail, popped it through the letterbox and went back to his van. He repeated the process at numbers twelve, fourteen and sixteen finding on his way a collection of fairy lights, tinsel, another Santa and few stars. “I love Christmas”, he thought, humming something that may have once been Slade.

At the top of the road, he drove his van into the garden centre and went in to the shop with their letters and a parcel.

As he approached the till he said

“Sandra, I’ve got your post. Would you do the honours?”

“Oh” she said, looking at the address on the third one “you’d best take that one out the back, that’s for Santa. He’s just setting up in the grotto. Go through.”

“No problems” and Gordon set off through the shop to the Christmas area at the back.

“Hello?” he hollered as he entered the covered over, snowy cave that was the centrepiece of this Christmas extravaganza “er, Santa?”

There was no answer, so he stuck his head in gingerly, not wanting to catch the big man in the middle of getting changed.

“Ho ho ho!” a voice boomed back. “Come on in Gordon!”

As Gordon went into the little grotto, he saw Santa perched on his big chair clutching a takeaway coffee. Santa saw him looking and winked “Got to set myself up for the day! Lots of children to see and wishes to grant, you know.”

“Of course. Can’t beat a good kick of caffeine.  I’ve a letter here for you.”

“How strange. Normally people write to me at home at the North Pole. What a relief it found me here!”

“Er?” said Gordon, not wishing to be rude.

“Oh, it’s a list from Freddie Chambers. Perfect, I’ll add it to the pile. Busy, busy elves!”

“Er” said Gordon again, feeling that perhaps he needs the coffee more than the jolly man in front of him. Or maybe a mulled wine. Was it too early for a small eggnog?

“Have you put your order in yet?”

“What? Me? Er….”

“You are a man of very few words aren’t you Gordon? I had you down as a lot more talkative. Never mind though. Have you put in your Christmas list? Popped it up the chimney maybe?”

“Er. No. Not really. Thought the wife might get me some new socks maybe.”

“Oh, well, very practical I’m sure, the mileage you do. But what does your HEART desire?”

“Erm…”

“Think on it Gordon! There’s no time to lose! I want you to shake my hand (you’re a bit old for sitting on my lap) and whisper in my ear something you’d like.”

“OK” said Gordon, feeling like a complete idiot “I’d really like an SD2T, with newspaper holder.  I see so many lovely individual post boxes on my rounds.  I’d love one for my place.  It’d really make the porch look brilliant and stop my newspaper getting all mangled as it is wedged through the door by that young paperboy who clearly isn’t destined for a glittering career in distribution.”

“Is that all?” Said Santa “Think big Gordon, why wouldn’t you want an SD3T? More space, great colour?”

“You’re right, I just wouldn’t want to be greedy”

“Never” boomed Santa “Off you go then, Merry Christmas, ho ho ho!”

And Gordon went out into the Garden Centre, dazed and not a little confused and went on with his rounds.

Now elves of course are very clever and make all manner of things. But they are also geniuses in the art of outsourcing. They keep it very quiet, it’s not good for PR, but you should know that occasionally, when they want expert help with a specialist post box, they have been known to drop a note to the team at Letterbox4You to see if they can help.

So, it won’t come as too much of a surprise to learn that Gordon did wake up on Christmas morning to a shiny black SD3T post box (with newspaper holder).

Oh, and some socks.

Merry Christmas!
From all at Letterbox4you

Horace the Paper Shredder

Gordon, our hero postman was doing his Tuesday rounds as normal. It’s a perishing cold day but as always, Gordon is in shorts and fleece, moving at a cracking pace keeps him perfectly warm and he sees absolutely no point in wearing long trousers.

Gordon loves people and dogs and most of them love him. An affable chap, he juggles an exceedingly busy round with making pleasant conversation to all he meets, and he still manages to get back to the depot before many of his colleagues. Friendly and efficient, his boss reckons that if he was able to clone him about ten times, the world of mail deliveries would be an altogether better place and he would sleep a lot better at night.

On this particular Tuesday, he stops in his tracks as Mrs Stedman from number thirty comes hurtling down her drive towards him.

“STOP!” she hollers, throwing up her hands, “Gordon, Stop”

Well this was all a bit odd.

“Are you alright?” Gordon asks politely, trying very hard not to notice that Mrs Stedman is still wearing a what is obviously her nightwear; a saggy pair of check pajamas and an oversized, slightly greying T shirt and has her bare feet on the frosty ground.

“Can I have the post?” She gasps, holding out her hand.

“Of course, here you go.”

“It’s my new bank card. I’m totally stuck without it. I only got one on Friday, but it got ruined so I need another one. I can’t have this one wrecked too”.

“It looks OK.” Gordon says, examining the three envelopes he is clutching for her. “I’m sorry if the last one didn’t make the journey, we really do try to keep everything safe in transit.”

“Oh no” she exclaims “It wasn’t the post. It was Horace. Horace ate the entire thing.”

“Horace is the new dog?” Gordon surmised, having recently heard a new dog barking from inside.

“Yes, our new rescue dog. He’s a total darling but he can’t see anything papery without shredding it into tiny pieces and eating it and he didn’t differentiate the bank card, I’m afraid. It’s a nightmare. He’s had the post most days, all the Sunday papers, a Jane Austen I’m reading for book club and my daughter’s homework. Well, that’s what she told her teacher anyway, I don’t actually recall her doing it if I’m honest… But how often does a girl ever get to say, “The dog ate my homework, miss”?”

“Blimey” Gordon said. “That’s, urm, difficult for you.”

“Oh, I know. We’re obviously trying to train him to play with other things but it’s really hard when a pile of his favourite stuff comes through the door every morning at 8”.

“Have you thought about a letter box?”

“We’ve got one?”

“No, not the one in the door. I was thinking you could put one up outside. Then he can’t get to the paper and you won’t lose all your post.”

“That’s a genius idea! Gordon, you’re a wonder. Why didn’t we think of that?”

“Well, you’re clearly managing quite a lot. If I were you, I’d get on the web straight away with your new card and look at Letterbox 4 You. They have loads of really stylish ones that will look a treat out front here.”

“Thanks Gordon. I am going to do it right now. Horace’s mail chomping days will soon be over”

The next day, Gordon is careful to ring the bell and hand the post to Mrs Stedman. He is introduced to Horace who surely is as described, a lovely dog of some indeterminate mixture of breeds, who looks quite likely to lick a person to death when he’s not busy being a one-dog professional document shredder.

“I’ve ordered a gorgeous letterbox” Mrs Stedman said “It’s arriving later today! I can’t wait.  It was such fun choosing one, there are so many, I’d no idea!”.

And sure enough, on Thursday, Gordon walks up the drive to see a beautiful wall mounted post box attached to the wall of the Stedman’s porch. It’s a rather fancy looking thing with leaves and a newspaper holder.

“Well” he thinks “That’ll sort Horace out”.

And he pops the post easily into the postbox and heads back off on his rounds, smiling to himself.