Going demented – or Blogsbody fearing he may just flip – after Jo Swinhoe, director of fundraising for London’s Alzheimer’s Society, enters the mailbox of Cressroads’ Lower House of Windsor warning one in three people over-65 will die with dementia, and hoping he will not forget it.

‘I hope you like the personal address labels attached for you, with a beautiful picture of forget-me-nots,’ enthused Jo. ‘There’s a very good reason we’ve sent them to you – and for you to use them.

‘You see, we’re using the forget-me-not, with its delicate pale blue petals and yellow centres to raise awareness of dementia and the work of Alzheimer’s Society,” she continues .

But Blogsbody can’t agree the colour printing of her hundreds of thousands of 2010 Appeal leaflets do justice to the flower as he counts his total of 14 self-adhesive labels, and knows from passing performance he is most unlikely to write, otherwise address, stamp, and mail out as many letters over as many years to come.

So think greetings cards. Or rather he hasn’t since becoming a state-pensioned, semi-computer-literate-silver-surfer exchanging the cost of postage for the benefits of AOL’s free email.

And, in any event, the charity’s sprat to catch a gift of ‘£25, £50 or as much as you can afford to go towards work to support, research and campaign on behalf of people with dementia’ omits any mention whatsoever of his first name or initials, and prints an indelibly failed attempt to spell his surname.

“For every eight research proposals we receive, we have to turn seven down. We simply don’t have the money to support them along with all the other work we must fund. So today, as well as using the labels and postcards I’ve enclosed for you, will you send a donation?” hopes Alzheimer’s Jo Swinhoe.

Blogsbody promises to do no more than splash out on the price of a brace of postage stamps and find some future use for each of two postcards: ‘Leading the fight against dementia’.

This in the wake of his one phone call to Reading and two to London to find and explain to Alzheimer Society’s Debbie Overseer-of-Mailings: “Gone all but demented tracking you down to Devon House HQ, and the bad news is my state pension makes it an act of certifiable madness for me to commit to any cause but my dysfunctional family and myself.

“That said, Debbie, I’m hoping the good news is that, by me alerting you to the possibility of significant numbers of failed attempts to create and give away sets of usable address labels , you will spark changes further to improve the success of mailing out your future appeals.”

“Thank you for your perseverance,” begins Debbie.

“ ... but given the terrifying odds of becoming another one in three hoping to stop the disease from advancing, it’s me who is most grateful for you trying your utmost to aid and support sufferers,” Blogsbody rings off to answer an afternoon knock at his front door from the neighbourhood ‘s part-time postman all but finishing his especially late walk of the day that is most in step with what was once the time of a second not only delivery of the day.

“Hiring part-timers – now Royal Mail policy, because it’s cheaper than employing full-time staff – means it is our availability that calls the shots as to when you’ll receive your post,” explains a uniformed, grey-bearded redundant manager of a stately home making the town’s final round of the day its city-built estate.

“No mail, but this,” Steve presents a card advising Blogsbody that Alresford’s sorting office – not, as once was the case, his, Mr Postie – holds back an item of mail.

In this instance, one anonymously and inexplicably shy of an outstanding £1.08 postage-payable, and awaiting personal collection or threatening return to sender within a week.

For what remains of Blogsbody’s mind to want to reckon the impending closure of Alresford’s sorting office at the rear of its closed Post Office in favour of a centralized postal operation for Greater Cressroads will soon come to mean any future curiosity as to the Who, What and Why of such failed attempts by senders at savings on postage will demand his 16-mile return journey to Winnall – or forget it.

Postscript: ‘As so eloquently put, I‘m a mere minion in the cast of thousands but touched by your mention. What an amazing story you tell and obviously you have travelled far and wide through to growing old disgracefully in Hogshire’s Alresford-on-Arle. So Hogshire’s hack was not always Hampshire driven. Given you were married to a French-Canadian fashion writer, and appearing to become a new member of your cast. Do tell us more. Such intrigue! Best wishes,’ MB signs off for a third time.