The Postman calls twice

Updated: July 12, 2015

November 17th, 2021


Sat in the kitchen of my flat it was time for some contemplation. Was it really time to leave the PEBA? Had I given my all to the league? I knew that Sir John had done me a favour in some ways, I would never have had the heart to trade away Leonard Ramsey, Nathan Carter, Chris Long, Hiroyuki Nii & Leonard Carver but that’s what is going to have to happen sooner rather than later as their wages spiral upwards. I had the travelling itch all my life, perhaps now was the time to hit the road again?

I was woken from my reverie by the sound of the letterbox clanging. Strange I thought, I had already slung today’s missives from junk firms, debtors and beggars into the bin.  Going into the hall, sure enough there was an envelope lying on the mat. Picking it up I discovered it to be completely blank, no name, address or indeed anything. Just an envelope …

Returning to the breakfast bar & my cereal I was set to wang it into the receptical designed for rubbish but something stopped me and I let it lie on the table. I finished breakfast and went to change and shower. Feeling more alive I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. The envelope still sat on the table caught my eye. I swept it up and shoved it into my pocket resolving to investigate it down the pub.

Once I was safely settled in my favourite corner, in my favourite pub, with my favourite beer I began to relax. Perhaps this was the life? I hadn’t been able to do much of this over the last seven years, first Kuwana and then the London Underground had taken all of my time since 2014. By the time I was on my third pint I was quite convinced I could get used to this again. Then I remembered the envelope still nestling in my pocket. Pulling it out I slipped my finger under the flap and ripped it open. Out fell a plane ticket and a slip of paper. That made me start, not often do you get plane tickets pushed unsolicited through your letterbox. The paper just said “Are you up for a big challenge? Boston Harbour Hotel tomorrow noon.“ The note was initialled HM. I smiled, short, sweet and to the point it had piqued my interest. I opened the plane ticket and glanced at my watch. I had four hours to get to Gatwick.

It was now or never … and did I know a ‘HM’ ?