Don't panic! I tell myself (in the manner of Corporal Jones).
"It's nothing to worry about," the school secretary says. "Are you coming to pick your children up this afternoon? Could you call in to see me at the office?"
Now intrigue, more than panic, sets me on the walk to school with some immediacy. (After finishing my cup of tea, of course.)
"Well, Mrs Withenay, I had a phonecall from a lady in Australia."
"Yes, Australia. It appears her mother, in York, is receiving your post forwarded from your old address." The secretary laughs. I stand there looking at him as if the world has just flown off into a different orbit and I am left stranded, wondering what I was supposed to have done to stay on it.
"So, let me get this straight: a lady in York is receiving my mail, redirected by the Post Office."
"Well, that's how it appears."
"And how come they phoned you?"
"There must have been something with the school name on, that she could just see beneath the label."
Ah. My solitary planet is gradually colliding with reality.
"Anyway, I couldn't give our your personal details, but here's her number if you want to be in touch."
I love our school. The secretary chuckled to himself, as I went off to fetch the kids.
Given I have already blogged about the tardiness of the forwarding from our old address here, and just a week ago we received something forwarded incorrectly from another house in our old street, it does make me wonder what value we get from this service. And, furthermore, I wonder what service we'll get when we move in a month's time [yikes! that really is a cause for panic, Corporal Jones!]
Then I sigh, and remember that we have one of the best postal services in the world, finding addresses from little on the envelope, delivering things to the most remote places, not opening the mail to see what is inside and what they would like to keep... (never totally trusted parcels through Zambia!)
Now, I must go and phone a lady in York to try to retrieve my post...