A leaflet came through my door from the NHS inviting me to take part (if that is the right term) in Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.
What a kind offer, I thought. They must know I’m stressed. Fine, so I didn’t think that. I thought: what a blasted cheek!
This leaflet is a mailshot, clearly, and has been distributed to every home in my area at a cost of goodness knows how much. I looked at the glossy thing in all its impudence and presumption and decided to chase after the postman.
He was three doors down when I caught up with him and he wore a cheery smile as usual. ‘Can I ask you something?’ I called and as I approached him he could see I was waving the leaflet.
He grimaced. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘it’s a cheek, isn’t it?’
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