Long live the blue mail king

In a simplified hireachy of mail bills are right at the bottom, circulars have to be next, catalogues somewhere in the middle, cheques and birthday cards near the top but unquestioably the king of mail has to be the unexpected overseas mail from a friend. It's hard to say what the best part is, the hand written address, the unusual stamp or the fact that someone has taken the time to put pen to paper. They don't come too often and there are a couple of good reasons for this, I don't know that many people who live elsewhere and I am not the most prolific letter writer. These are not excuses but I think they go some way to explaining the drought.

I came home one day and sitting on the door mat half buried lay the best letter I ever received. At first glance I thought it was junk the envelope was blue, people do not send blue letters, blue letters are for birthdays and it was no where near this time. It was only when I scooped everything up I saw the stamp, but this was, if you can believe it even better than a stamp, this was printed on the letter. On the top it said SRI LANKA POST in bold red lettering and on other end of the envolope was a picture with the text Bank of Ceylon that held no particular significance to me. I turned it over examining it like an episode of CSI. On the back was Sri Lankan text and the real give away the return address. It was not with the typically dramatic manner we have come to love and expect from the show but I had deduced the origin and sender of the post. This was no ordinary letter this was an Aerogram.

Aerograms are amazing and in the same way a monkey is similar to an ape, it's obvious they share genes but at the same time are completely different. They both contain a letter, (not the primates) have a stamp and are delivered by the mail service but that is where the similarity stops, getting an Aerogram open is an episode of CSI in itself. It is probably best described as piece of paper that after you have written your message folds up and becomes the actual envelope and is then sealed on 3 sides. With extreme caution I picked it apart. In reality there was no need the letter was fine and the monkey analogy descrided earlier is probably a better description of me examining this strange blue letter. I make no apologies for this as I think anyone else would have done just the same.

The letter itself was everything a good letter should be funny, insightful and informing. When reading letters the narration in my head is not me anymore it takes on the voice of the person who wrote it. It had been a few years since I had actually seen Marcus face to face but reading this it could have been yesterday. I often fear that an email can be misread, it is a common complaint that intination is missing and can be mistook for something unintended. I don't think this is ever a problem with letters, letters take time to be written even the quick ones, maybe it is their considered manner, their physical state or their tactile nature but you just can beat a letter.

Will I write in a few years time about the best email I ever received, I can't rule that out, but the fact that I received one just last week and it has now gone missing might be some indicator.

The noise in a nutshell

In the last couple of months I have noticed a small noise in the back of my head, I have started talking to myself. I say talking but it's really more of a monologue of consciousness that whirls around looking for a way out, nothing is actually vocal I am not that nuts but I am sure that if I typed this in to Google I could self diagnose any number of mental ailments but here lays the problem. This may be a worrying development but either I am not far enough along the line or I am a border line case because for the fear of being carried off by the men in white coats I am not about to ask anyone else if they do this too.

It is hard to say when exactly it started but I think being self employed has a lot to do with it. Other than phone calls it can be three days without having anything more than a cursory few words to strangers. I find it a funny feeling when this happens, almost as if my powers of conversation are slipping away and I am reverting back to a more neanderthal like being. It has often amazed me how far a grunt will get you, I notice it in the newsagent, on the bus, at the supermarket, in fact out of the workplace there are not many everyday situations left where proper powers of language are a necessity. At first I thought this was simply rude behavior from people with lives to busy to tear themselves away from that "Oh no she di'nt" phone conversation or that tinny sounding ipod for long enough to string a thank you together but maybe it's not, maybe I am not the only one feeling this ape like regression, prehaps we are slowly slipping in to a little capital of the apes if you will.

I kind of like the voice, he sounds like the kind of guy I would like to have a beer with. It is not like when you hear yourself on the answer phone it's the way you think you sound and it's a good job too, it's like a narration going on as if I am in a film thats just starting, the credits have just finished and the story is being set only on a far more mundane, everyday and far less epic sort of way. It happened yesterday on the way back from town, from nowhere a debate started up questioning the the merits of fish vs pasta, it was a rounded argument covering both sides, that may sound trivial but is was not we were talking dinner.

You might be thinking well everyone has these thoughts but here is where we started, how do you know and who do you ask.

Harry Potter and Saturday night quiz

I was invited to a pub quiz last weekend, I jumped at the chance. It was in the city, an area I don't frequent too often but for a quiz I was prepared to make the trip. I breezed in past a polite woman holding a jar, she said hello. Thats polite I thought but I was focused, I said hello back and walked on I was looking for my team. The only problem was that of the eight members I only knew two, a couple, who were running late. I sought the security of the bar, ordered a drink and decided to wait it out.

It turns out that the woman standing by the door, holding a jar and being polite was not just part of the furniture. I realised this when my friends turned up and like every other person in the place popped £2 in the jar, it would seem they did not have the same focus as me, this was the first worrying sign. I met the rest of my team and under first impressions they seemed a nice bunch but were they smart.  So specialist subjects anyone, it would seem not and mine, well, useless knowledge of course. There was an odd laughter, I say odd because I had not made a joke simply stated a fact perhaps they had misheard me. The quiz starts and things are ticking along nicely I am nodding my head in agreement to the people who seem to have sensible answers to sensible questions. There are a few gaps on our sheet but I am sure everyone has a couple this is going well. It was at the half way break when the current scores were added up that things started to turn. Third, the Quizzie rascals were third, third from bottom what the hell, maybe we should have filled in those gaps.

The night was organised in order to raise money for the foodbank, a great scheme, to which you will be happy to know I unfocused for long enough to donated my £2 in to the jar. I looked around the room sizing up the competition only to see nearly everyone was drinking water, soda or juice. This could have been a lifestyle choice but I think it was more, these people meant business, well what was I meant to do, I went to the bar.

There was a dispute on what France looked like, and I think a few others cottoned on to my agreeing head nod trick as my end of the table started to resemble a churchill advert. Another scores update revealed we had held steady at third (bottom). Not a disaster. After the final round the papers were collected and the results came in. Quizzie rascals last place. I would like to say unbelievable but don't feel I can.

There is a final twist in the tale as the losers turned out to be winners of wooden spoons and chocolates. As there were only prized for first and last I like to think we played the smart game, we came out a wooden spoon each and a few chocolates richer with Mike Baldwin and Harry Potter sealing my crown on useless knowledge.

Were my team smart, well all I can say is we won a prize.

The man the shoes and the wardrobe.

I have far too many shoes and they're just sitting in the bottom of my wardrobe. I have a few pairs that I wear regularly the rest just sit there. I like shoes as much as the next man and appreciate a good one when it comes along, the problem is throwing them away. I just can't do it.

The space at the bottom of my wardrobe is now full and the shoes have stacked up in layers like a time line in rock and like that rock they mark points in time. There are pairs from before I moved to London, a smart pair to go with the first suit I ever bough myself (a hideous brown affair but thats another story), numerous trainers expensive and cheap and a pair a good friend bought me in Paris so we could get in to a nice restaurant and thats just near the top. There is a part of me that doesn't like to throw anything away, I really am a bit of a hoarder but I also have a feeling they might be useful in some way, I know the moment I dumped them I will suddenly need that knackered pair of green stripe to complete some awesome outfit, it's a long shot but thats only part of the reason.

I like the way they look. They are like a finger print, there is not another pair of used shoes that look like this. They have to arrive at this point themselves through a combination of good nights out, jokes shared, and sweat spilt. The way I walk and how I tie my laces have all shaped these shoes they are molded around me, they go everywhere I do and for a while are my best friends a time capsule of memories the embodyment of the way I am. The dirt is significant and I am the only one who knows why.

But my wardrobe is not a museum (officially) so something has to give. Shoes your time has come, dear friends I will miss you, but as one last mark of respect for the loyalty you have shown me and the good times we spent I want to immortalise you through the power of the internet.

Thank you Dunlop Green Stripe you served me well.