The letterbox on Harbour Row

There is a letterbox on Harbour Row that I have come to regard as an adversary. Most spring flaps behave themselves. They accept the letter, they close, they get on with their day, as any decent flap should. This one waits.

I have delivered post to every house on that street for longer than I care to state, and still it catches me. In it goes, back it comes, straight across the tip of my beak with a smartness that suggests intent rather than accident. I do not believe in coincidence from a domestic fitting.

I stood on the step this morning and had words with it, quietly, so as not to alarm the geraniums. I explained that I was a professional engaged in essential work and that a beak, whatever its dimensions, was not something to be trifled with. The flap said nothing, which I took as guilt.

In the end I posted the letter sideways, at an angle no self-respecting spring could anticipate, and walked on with my dignity largely intact. Largely.

I shall be keeping an eye on that letterbox. Or possibly a beak's width away from it, which under the circumstances seemed the wiser policy.