In my younger days, I used to love receiving post. Sad but true. I would look at my parents mail enviously and wonder when it would be my turn. How important I would feel when I was handed an envelope with my name on. “For little old me?” I used to think. How innocent and debt free my life was then! The letterbox was not brimming with my bills back in the good old days, it would be the odd bank statement and perhaps a letter from my friend Catherine.
Remember when people used to write letters? In pen! Now it’s all emails and texts, if you wish to catch up with someone. In fact, I was scribbling something in the hen weekend book last Sunday, and I was questioning the last time a pen had formed so many words, and why my writing was not as neat as it used to be. Yep, writing seems to be a dieing tradition. Good old-fashioned hand written letters go way back to the days before those evil temptations entered my life. You know the sort - visa card, store cards and bank loans. The days when opening my post was a pleasure and not a pain.
In my older days, I despair at the amount of bills I receive. It seems the Royal Mail refuse to deliver anything positive. Don’t you think life would be far nicer if your post consisted of a heart-warming and entertaining letter from a dear friend. Or vouchers to spend in your favourite store, as a thank you for your valuable custom. Or a notification from your company praising your hard work and commitment and rewarding you with a pay rise. Or a brochure from a travel firm whose annual profit was so high they were offering holidays to the general public, for a fraction of the recommended retail price. Imagine it! But it never is anything remotely like this. If it was, the world would be a far happier place, I’m convinced of it.
It’s like the news on our television screens. I tune in to see what’s going on beyond my bedroom and my work desk, and then I shudder at the financial mess, shootings, robberies, death and destruction that this world is faced with. Is it really all that bad? A girl could turn to Prozac after watching the news. Why can’t we hear about the boy who has been reunited with his long lost twin brother. Or the childhood sweet hearts who married in an enchanting castle. Or the man who was walking down the road and one hundred and fifty pounds fell out of an oak tree and into his hands?!
Maybe I’m seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses, but do you know what, I much prefer it that way. And on that note, I might nip to the opticians to see if they're promoting any. With a bit of luck they'll be selling a pair for half price in their autumn sale.
Picture of the day.
What colour is the sky in your world?