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I had been really looking forward to it in the beginning. I had imagined myself sitting in my study like Jack Nicholson in About Schmidt, writing long, meaningful letters to the unknown child.
Then, quite unexpectedly, as I agonised over what I would write in my first missive, I received a letter from the little guy. ‘Hello dear sponsor!’ he said in a flourishing ornate script in his own language, with the English translation below. He informed me that he is a seventh grader and likes natural sciences. He has a sister who does well at school and his mother and father are very hard-working and kind. He loves his family very much. ‘I’ll be very happy if you tell me about your family.’ He signed off with the most beautiful blessing I have ever heard about God keeping me in the palm of his hand. Now I do not know what to write. I have no idea what to say to this ‘disadvantaged’ child who is obviously happier and better adjusted than me.
A disturbing notion has taken hold that I have nothing of real value to communicate. I have resorted to the crib notes in the sponsorship guide. ‘Talk about your family, their likes and dislikes. Give them a picture of your family life.’
All right. Here goes. ‘Dear Zhirayr, I live with a giant black rabbit called BB and a cat called Lou-Lou. The rabbit, who is the size of a Labrador puppy, likes chewing things and has nearly eaten an entire rattan sofa. I don’t mind as it has become performance art and would probably fetch a lot of money in one of our London museums if I called it something like “The physical impossibility of sitting in the mind of someone lagomorphic”. BB also likes chasing the cat. The cat likes lying in the front garden where the rabbit can’t find him. His favourite food is tuna. I also have two horses called Tara Lee and Gracie. They are very moody and like to chase each other round their field. Tara’s favourite thing is to throw me into the air then run off on her own.’
So far, so good. ‘Describe the kind of home and area you live in. Remember, your message is likely to be translated by our field staff.’
This could be tricky. ‘I live in a place called Balham, which is very nice but is run by something horrible called Lambeth Council which charges us a lot of money and bosses us around all day. We have to sort all our rubbish into piles so that they can sell it and I spend many hours a week doing this. They also charge us hundreds of pounds to park our cars in front of our houses and this week my permit ran out and I haven’t had time to renew it, so every night I must drive round and round to find a place to park where there are no restrictions and then walk back home in the dark. If I forget, a man wearing a black mask over his face and riding a motorbike will come and put a big yellow envelope on my windscreen informing me that I have been fined a lot of money. If I forget twice it will cost me more than a year-long permit.
‘I would go and get my new permit but it will take many hours of queuing at a special “customer centre” in a place called Streatham. Even when you get to the front of the queue it takes a long time because you have to have your identity papers checked by lots of different officials who demand all sorts of documentation to do with your car and your home and are very rude and aggressive to you.
‘Often when you come out of the customer centre your car will have been fined anyway because the free parking space you were told to park in will have run out of time because the officials have been interrogating you for so long and one of the men in masks will have come on his motorbike and put an envelope on your windscreen and you will have to go back into the customer centre to pay it, and start all over again. In theory, you could be doing this all day and as I have to work very long hours in order to earn all the money the council demands from me I don’t have time.’
Well, I think that just about sums it up. I’m hoping he doesn’t feel too sorry for me.
Melissa Kite is deputy political editor of the Sunday Telegraph.
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