In Days of Old . . .

When I first started working overseas there wasn't of course any computers and hence there wasn't any e-mail.  The only way to stay in touch was by writing letters as telephone calls were an expensive luxury reserved for special occasions such as Christmas.

On my first assignment overseas I went from someone who struggled to write even a Christmas thank you note to, I think it's fair to say, a prolific letter writer.  When you think about it, recipients of my missives generally only had to reply to me, whereas I would have a list of at least a dozen regular correspondents to maintain contact with, plus several more intermittent contacts.  Colleagues would often comment that they didn't know what I could find to write about but I like to think there's always a tale or a story in even the most mundane and routine daily events.  

In fact I miss writing letters: the paper; the ink; the envelopes and the postage.  Letters convey a certain personal touch that an e-mail cannot ever express.  Handwriting, with its errors and corrections, and in some cases its borderline legibility, transmits a certain personal care and effort that a series of electronic pixels (printed or not) cannot communicate, despite what computer font you might choose to use.  In a way it can be likened to the differences between film and digital photography.  Photographic film is the paper and ink and due to the cost and time element, care must be taken in composing the photograph, much in the same way time is taken in composing a letter, taking care to minimise the errors.  Taking the film to be developed is the equivalent of postage.  Waiting for the prints is the anticipation of a reply, and the prints are the the written response.  Digital photography gives the same instant gratification as e-mail but as I said, it still has its benefits.

The delight at receiving a letter through the post, dropping though the letter box onto the hall mat is, I'm sure, missed by many.  When working overseas there was always the heightened anticipation and excitement of the post arriving, and in certain cases the crushing disappointment when nothing arrived.  The post really was what most people lived for and those that didn't were more likely to go off the rails or go "bush".

Then along came (after some considerable time) the advent of computers and the internet and communications changed dramatically, largely replacing letter writing but with each process having equal merits and drawback.

When letter writing I found it quite difficult to write to several different people when telling the same news and repeat stories and maintaining an enthusiasm for writing.  As I see it, this is where the blog comes into it's own.  Like an open diary, I can write what I need to and only do it once.  Admittedly, it's not as intimate as an individually written letter or even a personally composed e-mail, but you have to make the most of what technology brings.  Besides, even if I did write a hand written letter, there aren't very many people in this day and age who would take the time and effort to write one back (for example, try buying a letter writing paper these days - and I don't mean A4 copy paper but proper letter writing paper - it's almost impossible).

Generally, I don't push this blog out to all and sundry but only to those who know me reasonable well.  Then there are the occasional cases where people get in touch and ask me what I'm up to these days and the perfect response is to direct them to this blog, and then they can read in quite some detail what's going on.

There are those who are genuinely interested, and I thank those people for their interest and support.  Then there are those that I call the Provincial Pub Man.  These people are those who say to you, when you appear after a spell overseas, "So, what's it like out there then".  Before I'd make the mistake of trying to explain but I quickly learnt that Provincial Pub Man isn't interested.  So I now resort to a simple "It's all right", and that's all they really want to hear.  In a similar vein there are those who ask the same question and I've directed them to this blog, but then they don't bother to take a look so like Provincial Pub Man I can only assume that they're not really interested.  That's fine and reading this blog isn't obligatory, but then I'd have to say to them please don't ask me again what I'm doing these days because if you can't be bothered to have a read and find out, then I really can't be bothered to explain when you ask again.

But recently I encountered on-line a different type of person, someone who I thought was a mate of mine and who asked me what I was doing these days, and so I referred him to this blog.  Within seconds he came back with the question "What's that crap?"  Quite how within a few seconds he had decided that nearly 10 months of what I'd written was crap is a mystery - he must be some some sort of gifted speed-reader.  I told him that he didn't have to read it if he didn't want to but pointed out that he had asked me what I was up to, and if he cared to read it what I'd written it would tell him.  Again he responded that he wasn't going to read it if it was crap: but it seemed he had already made his mind up.

Following this encounter I wondered if what I had written was indeed "crap".  Well, so what if it is?  No one has to read it and besides, I've received several complimentary comments so it can't all be crap, can it?

Then it dawned on me: of course he was rude and abrupt because he was reverting to type - he's Australian and rude and abrupt is what Australians generally do best.  Added to which, I think I could have tolerated his critique more if he had been someone as worldly wise and interesting as say David Attenborough, but with a life as shallow as a puddle on a pool table I don't think I have very much to worry about.