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'We'll write to the post office, commending your integrity and sense of duty,' he said. In London, it had seemed my husband Ben and I had everything.
'They should be proud to have women like you working for the Royal Mail.' I don't know about 'proud', but my colleagues were certainly surprised to find me working alongside them. We were in love and we had two gorgeous children, Will, six, and four-year-old Amy.
Meanwhile, the letter which I'd saved was drying on a radiator.
It turned out to be junk mail, an advertisement for loft insulation. 'It was a brave, if foolhardy, thing to do.' Archie echoed the bravery line. How had I gone from my glitzy life to driving a red Royal Mail van in Cornwall?
As a watching crowd gathered on the sea wall, a young lad fishing nearby threw me his net and I made repeated stabs at the elusive envelope, a crescendo of groans from my audience greeting every failed attempt.
Finally, however, a wave crashed in and left it stranded high, but unfortunately not dry, on the rock behind me.
I tried to leap from my rock to the other one but toppled off, scratching my hands badly.
There was a collective gasp from the onlookers as I grabbed the letter, pulled myself up and waved the soggy paper like a flag.
Suddenly, I knew with all my heart that this was where we belonged. My flimsy red knickers were now floating like an alien jelly-fish and there was no way my sopping jeans would go on to my wet body.A cheer from the crowd and I bowed modestly before clambering back to deliver the dripping mess to its owners, a couple called the Grenvilles.Jennifer and Archie, we were on first-name terms once they had learned of my rescue bid, plied me with coffee, tended to my scratched hands and gave me a pair of tracksuit bottoms to wear in place of my sodden trousers.As for my sweatshirt, it was a fast-disappearing pink blob, too far away to retrieve, and I hadn't been wearing a bra. Tying the belt from my jeans around my waist, I hung ribbons of green seaweed from it so they reached my knees, hiding enough of my lower half to prevent my immediate disgrace.Next, I flung my jeans across my shoulders, so that one leg was draped modestly across each breast, tucking the flapping bottoms into my belt.