Just to say that I’ve heard nothing from any of you lovely bloggers out there whose posts regularly pop into my Inbox to cheer me up. Finally, feeling both frustrated and cross, I approached WP for a reason as I knew you would all be posting and they suggested I check my Notifications page.
So I did. And guess what. A gremlin, or something, or somebody, had been in there an ticked the box to block all notifications. I am at a loss to account for this as I’ve never even seen this page to my knowledge.
But anyway, just so you know why you haven’t had any comments from me. I’m still here, not able to post due to pressure of things, but hoping to start soon, and meantime, I shall try and catch up with everyone’s recent posts.
Today I got a postcard from abroad! So what? you may think.
So absolutely fantastic that I did an impromptu jig in the hallway when I picked it up before reverently placing it in a prominent position so that I could look at it and admire it for a few more days.
Do you remember how exciting it was to receive a postcard in the days when people sent you postcards? Those mountain views, seascapes, hotels with the X placed just where the sender’s room was? The whiff of abroad that unsettled you as you sweltered in a stuffy office or maybe dreamed in your kitchen or garage as the evenings grew shorter and the winter light faded? You remember it now?
Next time you’re away from home, put away your smartphone, pack up the tablet, venture out and into the touristy gift shops and buy some postcards to send to your friends Postcards are physical things, things you hold, read and re-read, pass along to friends to read; they give rise to conversations “So-and-so is in Venice this week. I’ve had a card”. “Oh, does (s)he like it?” and so on. A whole conversation opens up in which you discuss former holidays, your bucket-list of places to see, the food you ate, the weather (always good) and how the children loved it. You don’t need to look down at your phone to check anything, it’s on the card, as is the view, not a blurred selfie taken and then hastily dispatched to all and sundry.
You can’t store the postcard in your Inbox only to have it deleted after the set time (in my case 30 days), you can’t Tweet it, upload it to Facebook, Instagram it or save it to your computer. But you can be cheered by it every time you look at it and think that someone has thought about you enough to go out and buy a card, then a stamp, then find a Post Office in which to post it. I know sometimes the shop will sell stamps and take them for posting, but not always.
So, what sort of Postcard are you going to send? One of those innuendo-laden Donald McGill cards that used to make everyone laugh, even the Vicar on a good day? Or a view of the sea/sand/mountains? A donkey, Flamenco dancer, famous painting, or two fluffy kittens in a basket? You have to think of the right card for the right person, and as you do, you’ll realise the pleasure it is going to give to whoever receives it, whether it be an aged aunt or a nine-year-old nephew.
Writing and sending postcards means time away from interfacing on Facebook, emailing the office, or poring over selfies of friends out on the town, but isn’t it a great excuse to ditch the technology for an hour or two?
I don’t mind what you send me. I just love that lift I get when I receive one, to know I’ve been remembered, and that you have spent time buying, writing and posting me a Wish you Were Here thought.
I couldn’t resist this one. I also saw it printed in very large white letters on a wall in the downtown area but it was in an area in which one felt uneasy taking photos so I didn’t even take my camera out.
It reminded me that we once had notices all over the place, including buses and trains, that said: “Do Not Spit”. How times have changed.
A poll among my friends this morning, leads me to think that I am the only one not to watch New Year’s Eve celebrations on TV last night. It’s not that I’m anti-TV, and I’m certainly not anti-New Year’s Eve celebrations, but I’ve been disenchanted with the programmes brought to us at this rather special time for the last few years, by those who schedule the night’s viewing.
After last year’s parade of people famous for merely being famous, fatuous comments from said celebs, frantic commenting from comperes striving too hard to convey a frenzy of excitement, and “stars” swanning around swanky venues, I decided that enough was enough. Even Jools Holland couldn’t do much to lift the gloom with his parade of guests, although at any other time I would have watched most of them with pleasure.
But I wanted something more for New Year’s Eve. Was that too much to ask? The fireworks last year were quite spectacular spoiled only by the voice-over, so this year I decided I’d give them a miss too. I opted instead to join some friends and watch the local firework display from a balcony and when that got too cold, from behind glass. And yes, they were good. And, no, I didn’t miss the TV version. And I did manage to catch up with a film I’d recorded some time ago which gave me two hours of very satisfactory drama.
Would it be too much for the cameras to roam outside London a bit more and spend a bit more time in Scotland. where the Hogmanay celebrations are usually worth watching? What did they do in Wales – and not just in Cardiff? What did they do in Dublin? In Belfast? In Liverpool? Even on the Isle of Man. And with so much accent on the EU nowadays, wouldn’t it have been nice to have a link-up with some European capitals?
Now all I’m left with is to make a few more resolutions. Last year I said “I’m not watching that again, ever” and I did just that. I can chalk up at least one resolution I’ve kept!