when you ask me to
Paper Reset
The pile of post you can't face. The carrier bags of letters going back years. The drawer that won't shut. Not one of them is a character flaw. Each is a stack of decisions nobody should have to make alone, and the worst bit is starting.
So we start together, and we make the decisions once, not four thousand times.
Your post stays yours
I never open unopened post. Paperwork only comes into a session when you've asked me for it, and even then you're the one who decides what happens to every kind of letter. My job is to make those decisions small enough to make.
Why a paper day works
The tiring part of paperwork isn't the paper. It's that every sheet asks you a question. Handle it, put it down, handle it again next month. What changes on a paper day is that you answer each question once, for a whole pile.
Instead of "do you want this 2014 water bill?" and then the next one, and the next, it's "what's our rule for old water bills?" You decide. I apply it to the lot. Only the odd surprise comes back to you.
first
The important ones come out
Before anything else, we look for the letters that might need something from you soon: tax, council, benefits, the NHS, anything about the home or a debt. That "have I missed something" feeling is the one we deal with first, and usually it's smaller than it felt.
then
Piles by sender, not by reading
All the bank letters together. All the energy bills together. All the hospital letters together. We look at who sent it and when, not at what it says, so it moves quickly and nothing gets read that you'd rather wasn't. Four tubs on the table: to do, keep, shred, not sure. Not sure is a real answer.
then
You set the rules, we do the sorting
With everything in piles, each pile needs one decision from you: keep it all, keep the last year, shred the lot. We write each one on a single sheet, in your words. That part only you can do, and it's usually the shortest part of the day. Then we work through the rest, me or the two of us on the bigger days, while you have a cup of tea or sort alongside us, whichever you'd rather.
last
New post gets one home
There's no point emptying the bath with the tap running. In the last part of the day we give new post one visible place and one small weekly habit: does anything in here need doing before next Sunday? If you'd like, we also switch what we can to paperless and cancel what you don't want landing on the mat, so next month's pile is smaller before it starts.
Shredding: Celebrating Closure
Anything private goes into sealed sacks that stay in your home until a registered shredding firm collects them from your door. You get a certificate of destruction by email. Nothing of yours travels with me.
And if you fancy it, the day can end with a bit of fun. I bring a little shredder. You pick a few pieces of paper that stand for the chapter you're closing, the letter from the worst year, the first bill of the pile, and you feed them through yourself. Cheer, swear, say nothing at all: your call. The sacks go the proper way; this bit is just for you.
Some people keep the confetti and turn it into something: a papier-mâché bowl, a card, a page in a scrapbook, so the old paperwork ends up as a thing you made. We pulp it first, so nothing on it can ever be read again.
The picture is an illustration, and a good deal prettier than the real thing. The actual shredder is small, plain and cream, and lives in my bag.
What you leave with
-
Your rules, on one page
What we agreed for each kind of letter, in your words, so the next pile already has its answers.
-
The never-throw-away card
Identity, legal, property, wills, certificates, pensions, current medical, and how long to keep the rest. Nothing to hold in your head.
-
A home for what stays
One box, a handful of labelled files, a one-line index, and a place for new post that you can see. Findable beats perfect.
-
A check-in at four weeks
A short visit, or a call where we open the new post together, to see the habit has landed. Booked as an ordinary session, only if you want it.
What it costs
- Inside an ordinary session: £45 an hour, two-hour minimum, £40 from the third hour. For a bag or two of post, this is usually enough.
- A paper day, the two of us: £250 for six hours.
- A paper day with a second pair of hands: £460 for six hours. For the ten-year backlogs. I sit with you for the decisions while a second person does the opening, piling and sacking, so far more gets through in a day than one pair of hands could manage. Collection of the sealed sacks, up to five, is included.
- More than five sacks: the shredding firm's charge for the extra sacks, passed on at cost with the receipt shown, nothing added by me.
Rates are the same as everything else I do; they're on the pricing page, along with the reduced-rate slots I hold each month.
your questions
Things people ask
- Will you read my letters?
- Not unless you ask me to. Unopened post is yours alone. When you ask me to help with paperwork, the first pass is by sender and date, not by reading: all the bank letters together, all the council letters together. Then you decide the rule for each pile.
- What if I cannot decide about something?
- Then it goes in the "not sure" box, dated six or twelve months ahead, and we carry on. Not sure is a real answer. If the box is still shut when the date comes round, we open it together, and by then it is usually easy.
- What about identity theft?
- Anything with your name, address or an account number is treated as private. It goes into sealed sacks that a registered shredding firm collects from your door, and you get a certificate of destruction by email. Nothing of yours travels with me.
- What must I never throw away?
- Identity documents, anything legal, property, wills, certificates, pensions, current medical letters and anything about a dispute that is still open. You leave with a card that lists them, so you never have to hold it in your head.
- Do I need to tidy the paper first?
- No. Bags, boxes, drawers, the pile on the chair: it all comes as it is. Gathering it into one place is the first thing we do together, and that is part of the day, not homework.
If you're asking for someone else
Often it's a daughter, a son or a partner who's worried about the letters piling up. Everything here is agreed with the person whose post it is, at their pace, and nothing is opened, moved or destroyed without their yes. If you'd like to talk it through first, the page for families is a gentle place to start.