This IS THE LETTER
Dear whoever you are,
This will no doubt win some sort of award as the weirdest letter you've ever had but please bear with me, there's nothing sinister about it.
I'm writing to you simply because yours is the house I was born in.
And now, nearly 70 years on, I am about to start on what some people might consider a crazy birth-to-death trip – travelling from where I was born to the woodland cemetery near Carlisle where one day my
days will end.
That's about 350 miles as the crow flies, but more like 900 on the route I will be taking, for along the way I will be calling in at all the places – where I grew up, went to school, met my wife, got my first job and
so on – that have been important to me over the years.
And I will be doing it all using only my old folk's bus pass.
My plan is to leave the bus stop, just down the road from your house, on the 10.33 bus on Monday May 15.
How much more interesting it would be (for both me and anyone who might read the book which I will inevitably write about the whole experience) if I could actually leave from the house I was born in!
This is pretty cheeky, but could I come for a coffee before I go?