"Snigger" Sunday

I failed to cross the threshold till dusk was falling tonight.  Not for the first time my Sunday has not been what I wished it to be!  The sun shone brightly outside but foolishly I watched mediocre football instead of striding around in possibly the last sun of the year.  Ah well walking in the cool of the day when few people pass by is a good thing.  The gray like sky was blue when I shut the door but darkening by the minute as I caught the trailers of people rushing for late holidays in the sun or heading back home for work in Edinburgh or Belfast tomorrow.  Flying in the dark is not as much fun as in the day, I like to watch the earth pass me by way down below.

I awoke to a man chattering on about writing letters.  The thrust of his chatter concerned people no longer scrawling words onto paper and sending the epistle in an envelope to a recipient and how awful this is.  Today we send e-mails or even texts, those can can work text or understand text speak that is, and for many this is now a crime.  No more heartless informal e-mails they cry, get a pen and write it all down.
I disagree.
Indeed receiving a letter though the post is a great joy, I received one myself only the other day and after carefully steaming open the letter, reading how much they wished me to pay, I resealed it and wrote "Not Known" on the front and sent it back.  Receiving a letter is always a good thing if from a friend or if it contains something of value.  However since the telephone became popular in the late 60's and commonplace by the 70's and with the mobile phone that doubles as a computer writing letters is a needless action much of the time.  People can speak via the phone or text/send e-mail or just ignore you as they do me.  The requirement to sit down and cogitate on a letter no longer exists.
When a postman I reckoned one day I had three 'letters' to deliver, all the rest were routine stuff, bills, banks, birthday cards etc, as these need papers copies or contain gifts, letters as such are overtaken by e-mail.  
I like letters but I prefer e-mail as it is quicker, cheaper and gets a quick answer, usually!  However if any young woman wishes to write to me in a perfumed £20 note please note I am willing to rush downstairs and collect it when the postie gets here!

You will have noticed how the world is laughing at England just now.  The imperialists considered this was their world cup and took it for granted they would win it.  The bombast over playing Wales fell flat when the Welsh stuffed them good.  Murmurings were heard everywhere as this was not supposed to happen.  It wasn't in the script prepared by the media and the people.  The build up to the game with Australia is best summed up by 'The Sun.'

Naturally the Aussies stuffed them and stuffed them right good at that!  How the tears flowed!  Now when your side loses a big game it does hurt however when you for reasons unknown believe you will win and believe you are better than all the others in spite of the facts to watch your suffering becomes a delight to those trampled by your imperialism in days gone by, such as yesterday!  How the English cannot believe they have lost, how they weep and wail, how the search for scapegoats and demand hanging is brought back.  The fact is it is only rugby and not that important, but it is good to see them suffer, not that I enjoy this in any way whatsoever.

 
"snigger"

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Correspondence

This is the similar to the pile of letters, documents, bills and requests for money piling up on the desk, not counting those that have fallen down the back. Having spent another enjoyable day at the museum throwing stuff out, she was not very pleased I can tell you, and chatting to aged visitors I return to the long list of things that remain untouched even yet.  Naturally while watching Manchester United struggling in Greece they will be left untouched for a while yet.

Well watching Man U struggle was a waste of space.  Even Brighton were better last night.  The tackle by Carrick at the second goal was so poor my grannie could have done better, and she died in 1915! The media will restart the Moyes witchhunt again, drooling over their chance to knock someone down when he is already down.  This will all come good again in the end but the poor Manchester United fan will suffer for the next season or so.  Mins you most of them will be swapping their bus trips to Manchester for the bus to Chelsea if they win the league, won't they? Mind you the Greek side Olympiakos were no slouches, and they did their part well.  My grannie would have scored twice against them mind!

A quick look through the press show nothing has happened today.  Ther media have nothing to offer as normal except brief details of the 'Tour de France' which passes close by later this year.  I would venture a look if it was not for the millions of people blocking the road at the time, all roads being blocked also at the time.  Tsk!  I must look into this near the time.  
I wonder if Grannie ever rode a bike....?  
  
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Man of Letters

Like John Ruskin I have always been a ‘Man of letters.’

Admittedly my letters have never quite made me either rich or famous, however I keep trying, and one day I may succeed.

In the days before I reached this level of maturity (stop giggling at the back) I wrote occasional scribbles to various folk, usually inspired by TV programmes. However I never did win any prizes, either from ‘Blue Peter’ or the STV News programme children's bit. They did not show my drawing of the Forth Road Bridge either! The kid who had his picture displayed on said programme may well have seen his mother smile but his effort was nowhere near as good as mine! Not that I'm bitter....

Funnily enough I did, eventually. Receive a reply from the great Jim Cruickshank! Heart of Midlothians greatest ever goalkeeper! Fan mail that obtains a reply was rare in the days when stamps cost ‘3d.’ He did enclose a signed photo and for a few short moments I was a star at the new, Jerry built, complex that masqueraded as an education establishment. I still have the picture and no, you can’t see it! IT’S MINE!!!!! Naturally I never achieved that standard of fame at school again. There again I was no good at the important things, burglary, pick pocketing and gambling on the horses!

In my fourteenth year, (we left school at fifteen then, and in fact I was actually fourteen when blessed release arrived), I began the laborious slog of writing letters to employers whose last desire was to receive letters from ‘spotty Herbert’s’ with no desire to work. In those days the majority did waste time and money in replying politely ‘No chance pal!’ The unfortunate death trap whisky bond that did employ me in July 1966 often used to indicate their wish to have replied with just such a note! The boss often wandered about muttering "3d, just 3d!"

I suppose I must point out that there have been many occasions when I have indulged in such work related letters, not because I have been dismissed as cynics suggest. On the contrary that has never happened to me, I always strike the first blow! Today I am once more involved in such written pleadings, again through no fault of my own, and in a recession at that! Nowadays replies are unlikely, even if I use e-mail rather than ‘slow mail.’ However I have received a few replies. "Wot you? No chance pal," they say, although with a 'Thamespeak' accent of course.

Not all the letters I have written have received an encouraging reply. Take that weather girl for instance. While sweet in disposition, lovely in appearance she was of course female. Quite how she misread my epistle in that particular manner is a mystery to me! The two, rather large, policemen who appeared on my door at seven that morning did not share her disposition I am sorry to say. Anyway, an encouraging word to presenters of programmes sometimes elicits a photo in reply as a thank you, although John Motson sent the picture but withheld any comment that time I wrote to him! As indeed did Trevor Brooking when I enclosed a sock and suggested he shoved it into Motsons gob next time they shared commentary together. There has been a continual correspondence with one TV chap who often got round to answering, sometimes cheekily, my comments. His decision to make use of one of TV’s slappers ended his marriage, and the correspondence appeared an intrusion at the time so it ceased. We may take it up again later, once his eyes have healed!

Today, in between lying about my youthful, talented, capabilities, I am tasked with nothing more than begging letters, all of which fail. The "...children may be starving," and " ...my husband may have left..," or ".. the wife dying of mononucleosis," and ".. and one child may need constant 24 hour care...," but the mean rich folk feel no sympathy and offer no care. Indeed they treat my billets with contempt! It was as if I pretended to be some Nigerian Prince who had $25,000,000 US to give to some poor sucker daft enough to believe them. And let face it, there is always someone who falls for that one isn……hold on. I’ve just had an idea! I must go I have some letters to write......