‘John ‘the Non-Stick Don’ Grimbino is settling in nicely in his new home, a high-security state penitentiary in upstate New York,’ says the letter’s author, Tony ‘Words’ Fuggedi. ‘He’s really made an impression with everyone there and has already amassed a record number of privileges and a very nice job in the prison library. In fact, there hasn’t been a single reported breach of the ‘no talking’ rule since a prisoner slipped on a stray dust-jacket and fell down some stairs.’

The letter reports that cousin Vinnie has jacked in the numbers racket and is now forging a new career in cut-price pharmaceuticals. ‘He’s making more money than he knows what to do with, but somehow Uncle Vito’s restaurant always seems to need investment, so the IRS shouldn’t be able to persecute yet another successful Grimbino entrepreneur.’

‘Of course, there have also been some sad occasions this year,’ continued the letter. ‘Cousin Joseppi hasn’t been seen since the summer when his loanshark business really looked like taking off, and unfortunately Lucky Luka got whacked after disrespecting one of the Carbano family. Still, these things happen, and it was a great excuse to get the family together. Let’s hope next time we meet under happier circumstances!’

The letter also reports that the twins, Luigi and Giovanni, are coming on leaps and bounds. ‘Luigi performed his first hit this year and Giovanni took the rap for him, though the case collapsed when a number of witnesses finally saw sense. Those two are going to be giving the authorities the run around for some time to come!’

‘And last but not least, the New Jersey Garbage company is holding up very nicely indeed. A number of hostile members of the local authority suddenly had a change of heart, and this year could see a record number of refuse collection contracts coming our way!’

‘Best wishes for the New Year,’ ends the unsolicited letter which recipients report discovering on their pillow when they woke, and the same night as their pets disappeared. ‘And fingers crossed that there’s no reason for you and your loved ones not to enjoy a happy and, above all, unharmed 2011. Would be great to catch up with you all soon, not least to clear up any misunderstanding about payment of your protection money.’

‘We’re all living in fear,’ said one barista, whose second degree burns are healing well after asking a mother to move one of the 15 Bugaboos obstructing the counter. ‘Our local NCT controls the high street from Boots to Early Learning. The manager of Greggs decided to make a stand and refused to pay his protection money. That night he found a rocking horse head in his bed. The next day he was a Steak Bake.’

The full extent of the NCT’s criminality is still unknown, but funded by the illegal distillation of formula milk, the organisation has enjoyed a reign of terror since its conception in 1956. But rival gangs have begun to mount an opposition and violent clashes between rival factions are becoming an everyday threat.

‘One minute a member of Bumps ‘n’ Babes was sledging a Costa baby for having a sub-average birth weight and the next they’re all pulling Tommy Guns out of their change bags and shooting the place up,’ reported a Cobham café owner. ‘It wouldn’t have been so bad if they’d spent some money first, but 23 of them had shared one slice of banoffee pie all morning.’

After tapping numerous baby listening devices, the authorities believe they know the identity of mysterious figurehead ‘The Godmother’ to whom the members turn for retribution, protection and recipes. But since the new female chief of Scotland Yard returned from maternity leave, she has been strangely reluctant to pursue a conviction. Until someone has the courage to break the omerta, thereby risking death and any chance of their children getting their first choice primary school, suburbia will remain at the mercy of the middle-class mummy mafiosi.

‘I was new to the area and made one of their toddlers wait whilst my kid was in the baby swing,’ says a terrified mother. ‘I had four packets of Wotsits mashed into the back seat of my car as a warning. But they’ve made it clear that next time I’ll be sleeping with the One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.’