Don’t forget your thank yous

Ah, the joys of the Nigel Molesworth self-adjusting thank you letter...

But at least Molesworth (otherwise known as the Curse of St Custard's, the splendid invention of Geoffrey Willans and Ronald Searle) bothered to write thank you letters. It seems to be a lost art.

When the boys were small, the agony would start on Boxing Day as I chased them to write their thank yous. "The sooner you do it, the less you have to write," I would offer as incentive. "If you leave it to the end of the holidays, you'll have to write two whole pages."

The more brutal way was simply to withhold all cheques, cash and tokens until they'd thanked their givers. It would, of course, be a lot simpler, quicker and far less stressful, to write the blessed things myself. A notion my niece, mother of three, echoed often.

On the other hand, when my mother died I found a shoe box, full of neat letters, crayoned cards, scrawled notes, and exquisite pictures, all crafted by grandchildren, step grandchildren and great grandchildren. They had been treasured carefully over the years and when I looked through them all there was a small shower of glitter, like ancient fairy dust. Bit of a heartbreaker that one.

Someone wrote recently and rather pompously in one of the national newspapers that the only possible acceptable thank you was a handwritten proper letter.

Which makes you wonder if they want to give pleasure or inflict agony on children, who these days simply don't do proper letters. That's why, although I appreciate the extra effort in a real letter, I quite happily settle for an email, computer letter, phone call or text. I don't want grovelling gratitude - just to know that it's got there safely and they know it came from me.

The irony is that these days, Nigel Molesworth's letter could indeed be self -adjusting and knocked off on the computer in two minutes flat.

Though whether anyone would treasure that in a shoe box for years, of course, is an entirely different matter.

AND while we're on thank you letters, it's time for me to say thank you for all your letters, e mails and phone calls through the year. A sign of the changing times that this year the balance has definitely shifted and overwhelmingly more of you now - even the over 80s - correspond by email rather than pen and paper. But all are much welcome.

And what a brilliant lot you are. Full of common sense and wit that's immensely cheering.

Among the subjects that have exercised your thoughts most this year have been how to bring up children. Or rather, how to find a balance between what you know you should do - home-cooked meals, lots of exercise and talking time - and the real world when frazzled families tend to flee in and out of the house at different times in different directions.

Even when disagreeing with me or other correspondents, you are all invariably polite. With the notable exception of one young mother who wrote to insult the people who'd objected to badly behaved children. Let's just hope that none of us ever has to share a train with her and her brood.

But you've commented on everything from the Queen (God bless her) to fruitarian diets (ahead of their time), Northern Rock queues (better safe than sorry), car salesmen (still sadly sexist), apprenticeships (bring them back), handbags (ridiculously expensive but, ooh, we like them), slugs (yuk), string vests (under-rated) to ages, which we are all agreed are less important than attitude.

It's lovely to hear from you, on paper or electronically. I try and use at least some of all the letters, so this is partly your page too.

And I look forward to hearing from you again in 2008.

THIS could be my favourite day of the year. One doesn't wish to tempt fate, of course, but... The shopping's done, the presents opened, the wrapping paper cleared away. There's still enough food left to sink a battleship so there's no cooking to be done. With luck, the family will all be out watching football and I can light the fire, pour a drink and watch one of my new DVDs or read a new book, while dipping lightly into any of the nuts, crisps or chocolates scattered invitingly around the house. This is the day it's all allowed.

I have spent other Boxing Days working, in bed with flu, or on the road, visiting relatives. Or back in the kitchen preparing food for visitors. But this year should, with luck, be a little oasis of calm and quiet.

Whatever you're doing, I hope your Christmas continues to be good.

TODAY is the day we traditionally gave Christmas "boxes" to the good and deserving who'd helped us through the year. After all the fuss and changes about what we do with our rubbish these days, the limits on what we can put in our bins, I bet the poor old binmen don't get as much as they used to.

What do they think of it so far? Don't answer that one...