I spent approximately 93.8% of my time as an undergraduate pretending to take notes but instead writing long, prettily decorated letters to all and sundry.
I still like doing so but alas, there just aren’t enough people who like receiving them any more.
The last one I received came from a timid drama queen in Clapham. It was really lovely, despite the whiff of Brut For Men and the half-eaten biscuit that was starting to mold.
I wrote a love letter to someone in the dark once while I was in bed. When I looked at in the morning I became quite vain about it and almost didn’t want to give it to her (I did though, and I think she was pleased).
Take one ink pen, add a sweetie jar filled with ink cartridges of all colours, placed where it calls to you. Writing paper of choice, or other material used in your random acts of stationery. Stamp. Postbox.
Letter writing is such a dying art, and it brings such pleasure, a warm glow that could never be achieved in any other way. Curling up and writing a letter is very soothing, once you have worked out how to get your ink to flow at an angle, which can initially be a tad frustrating.
hmm still write letters but the people i write too let me hear no end about it. quote, you write long letters. how else do they expect to convey my heartfelt feelings. i feel lots…
