Dispatch

A newsletter for your shop that arrives through the letterbox

You write it on your phone, like an email. We print it, fold it, put a real stamp on it and post it to the customers who asked. Once a season. People keep letters on the fridge.

Send your first letter Two red post boxes mounted on an old brick wall.

Three steps, and one of them is licking nothing

A woman with tattooed arms writing in a notebook at a café table.

You write

A page, in your own words. What came in, what's on the windowsill, when you're closed for the summer.

A pile of pale coloured envelopes on a lace tablecloth.

We print and fold

On heavy cream paper, your shop's name at the top, one sheet folded in three.

A red post box on a stand in front of dark green leaves.

It goes in the post

Second-class stamp, handwritten-looking address, in the box by Thursday.

Old handwritten postcards and letters scattered on a dark table.

"Forty of the sixty people I wrote to came in that month. Four of them brought the letter."

A wool shop, first spring letter

Emails from shops get opened about one time in five. Letters get opened, read at the table, and pinned up. That is the whole idea.

Before your first letter

Who it goes to

Only customers who wrote their address on your card at the till, or on a form on your site. We never buy lists.

What it costs

95p a letter, printing and stamp included. Fifty letters is £47.50. Nothing to pay in the seasons you don't write.

The rule about addresses

They are yours, not ours. We use them for your letter and nothing else, and one tap deletes them all.

How long it takes

Written by Monday, on doormats by the following Saturday.

A shop owner writing at a table in front of rails of patterned fabric.
A heap of opened air-mail envelopes with handwritten addresses. A man in a blue shirt writing with a red pen on white paper. Stacks of old brown envelopes with stamps and postmarks. A woman browsing shelves in a small shop with a view of the street.