Posted: 21 May 2010
There can't be a grown man alive who didn't, at some point in his teenage years, drop a carefully worded letter to a girl into a postbox and then, 1/100th of a second later, wished he hadn't.
If you were anything like me, and it seems you were, the next action you considered was pouring petrol through the slot and dropping a match in. But, of course, you didn't.
Still, you could always get up really early the next day and ask postie to give you your letter back when he came to make the collection, because, er, what, exactly? The postman will not allow an unknown teenage boy to interfere with the mail, even though the envelope with SWALK written on the back is obviously his.
You lie awake all night, turning this over in your mind, along with the piss-poor attempt at poetry, and pummel your brain. There must be some way to stop that letter being delivered.
But there isn't...