Dear Toby, my eighteen year-old friend,
You know you want to come and stay at Easter. You can’t possibly resist the lure of a few days in The Shed, being mauled and taunted and sat upon by The Four Little Seymours.
You love it when Mini Seymour bundles you out of the blue. Surely, nothing is better than when Boy Seymour wants to show you his tree house? And what could be more enjoyable than a noisy game of Uno with all of my children?
Who needs ultra-fast Wifi and enormous television screens? Not you! You can enjoy Disney flicks on the small screen from the comfort of the communal bed, and listen to the dulcet tones of reticulating saws and hammering in the distance.
There will be smoke and fire as we continue to sort out our glut of wooden waste! There’s nothing more welcoming than the smell of a good old bonf’. You simply love burning stuff and prodding it with sticks!
Oh! And I have saved a very special job just for you – clearing the ditch! Boy Seymour will help you! If you’re very lucky, you might find rare newts in there, and you can go home and tell your auntie from another mother, Eco Jo, all about it!
What else would an eighteen year-old be doing over Easter, anyway? I plan to organise a little hunt for you! With actual chocolate! (Maybe even Galaxy!) The Easter Bunny will visit you even if you are not at home – don’t you fret.
Remember what japes we had last time you came! Who else could wangle you a fish and chip lunch on an industrial estate in the sunshine? And we had so much fun, stuck in traffic with your tunes blaring as we drove home from that other exciting place I took you to that day – Tesco. Didn’t you just have the best time?!
As for your West Country mates – don’t worry about them. Tell them you have important business to attend to in the South East – a little mission to accomplish – for didn’t we always say you’d make an excellent manny? Now is your opportunity to prove us right!
You’ll perhaps be pleased to know that the tent I made you erect last time is now a gonner. I was briefly ruthless, and chucked it. But I am sure I could find another canvas structure for you to play with. Or… you could bring your own!
And don’t forget how much fun you had, nailing plasterboard onto our kitchen ceiling during October half term! (Just so you know, Big Seymour will love you forever for that.)
O.K. – by the time Easter gets here, you won’t be eighteen any more. You’ll be even older, far cooler and extra sophisticated. And where better to come than here, to The Funny Little Bungalow, to be appreciated wholeheartedly by your biggest fans, The Four Little Seymours.
Annoying they may be, but they do love you so! Please don’t leave them hanging.
Love,
Becky.
(Your coolest old friend.)
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