It was old Tom's birthday, seventy-five now and living on his own. The postman has usually been by now, he thought, as he looked at the clock on the mantle. Tom only had one child a daughter, Sally, who now lived with her husband Jim in the USA. Looking out of his living room window for any sign of the postman Tom wondered what Sally had sent him for birthday present. Last year she sent him a return ticket to Boston so he could spend some time with them, oh how he loved it there, three weeks in the sun with Sally and Jim.

Tom muttered to himself, he is never on time these days, at one time you could set your clock by the postman. Another look out the window then a trip to the front door, he could see the full length of the street from his doorstep. To Tom's delight, the postman had just gone up a path about ten doors away. As Tom shuffled down his path to greet the postman at the gate, the postman shouted to him, "None for you today mate." Tom could not believe it, "Are you sure, has it fell inside your satchel, there must be something for me. I was expecting a letter from America." The postman couldn't resist the chance to say to Tom, My name is Tony Brooks, mate not Alistair Cook." Poor Tom no present and no cards, just a sarcastic postman who carried on down the street.

Back in the house, feeling all sorry for himself, Tom slumped down in the armchair. She has forgotten her own fathers' birthday, he thought. As the doorbell rang he groaned to himself "Who the hell's that now." When he opened the front door a cry broke out, "Surprise, Surprise Dad, Happy Birthday." and there was Sally and Jim just arrived. The postman also returned with the cards he kept back from Tom as Sally had asked him to.