Diane Willis has finished writing over twenty cards to a load of people who are either dead or whose addresses have been out of date for over two decades, it has emerged.
Diane commences her annual ritual in late November of every year by retrieving some old threadbare address book with kittens on the cover and a collection of beige stains on all of the pages. “It is my trusty old address book just for Christmas cards, obviously.” she said. ” I have no other use for this book. It is however extremely important for me to send them my best wishes to literally every name inside, whoever they are. I mean, of course I know everyone in this book.
“They are all very dear to me. Like Margaret Anderson. My old primary school teacher. Possibly. Yes, that rings a bell. God, if I am fifty-three then she must be one hundred and…Anyway
“Okay. Moving on. Huh, Dr. John Allan. Of course. Right, Maybe try some B’s. Guy Barton. Who the f*ck is..? Just sign the card Diane.
“Who the hell is Reverend Bill Daniels when he’s at home?
“Ah, the post has just arrived. Mr and Mrs. F. Marshall? They sold the house to the people we bought it off. I think you need to update your address book. Idiots.
“Right, on to the E’s…”