Dear NatWest,

I like receiving post. Postcards meant for other people, catalogues full of plastic solutions for easy fruit slicing, letters from my mother asking if I have died, I like it all. To come home and find even the most shoddily packaged, bin-liner wrapped item from the meanest of Ebay sellers is like a mini Christmas every day. I expect you know this about me already though, seeing as you have also been very interested in knowing my father's middle name, the date of a 'significant event' in my life and the name of the hospital in which I was born. You may understand then the delicious thrill that ran through me upon discovering that you had sent me, uninvited, a large shiny silver envelope lovingly padded and taped against bumps, knocks and the stickiest of postmen's fingers. Not since you lured me to your services aged seventeen with the promise of a brand new Sony Discman have I ever been so excited to have you as the hosts of my not inconsiderable overdraft.

Imagine then, if you can be bothered, the significant confusion tinged with a small but perceptible amount of dismay upon finding that all you had sent me was a small calculator with all the buttons in Bulgarian which when pressed, could not even be coaxed into spelling out BOOBLESS when turned upside down. A quick study of the accompanying seventy two page manual told me that it was not a calculator but a card reader, into which I should place by card to be rewarded with a seven digit number that must be entered in order to gain access to my account online.

How thoughtful. You are thinking of my security in these dark, troublesome times. You will also know, of course, that I have had my wallet stolen three times in the past four years and all, incidentally, on the same bus route. How the lovely Sally HowcanIhelpyoutoday from your call centre and I laughed together when wearily, I rang once again to report the third theft and she suggested, with the lively and only slightly comical accent of one who does not live in London, that I take another means of transport in future! You are probably aware too that on none of these occasions has anyone ever used this opportunity to attempt to gain access to my internet banking account. On that third occasion however my card was actually used by the person who stole it; five hours after I reported it gone. £152 in Lidl. Sally seemed surprised when I rang back to tell her. Perhaps she was wondering, as was I, what one person could possibly do with that many unlabelled tins of peach halves.

Still, maybe you are right, and it's not your security procedures that need closer scrutiny. I expect the only reason the thieves did not gleefully plunder my online account with impunity every time is not because they could not possibly know the correct combination of account number, password, date of birth, mother's maiden name or answer to my security question to do so, but simply because they did not have that particular day's special seven digit number. I feel much safer knowing that my money is now much less likely to be spent, including by me, as I now can no longer access it online from anywhere the card reader is not.

Yours, with a certain unique kind of admiration,

Jack