tidings

It's rare that I receive anything in the post that doesn't make me wince. Like a lot of people I know I pick up mobile phone bills, gas bills and bank statements with little trepidation. The shock that hits me when I open them though -first with a quick double jab to my guts then floors me as 'my gorge riseth'- never lacks novelty, yet I have experienced it a thousand times. That eye widening moment when I read £576 on my phone bill or some similar stupid amount for heating when I never have it on and am hardly here is akin to those moments in my life when I have realised that I have done something very very stupid or bum clenchingly embarrassing. Why I haven't developed a keener sense of impending horror is beyond me. If natural selection processes are surreptitiously filtering out those ill equipped to deal with the lives we lead in the 21st century then I fear I'll be the first to go the way of the neanderthals.

Of course I have had a few pleasant things in the post: letters from my girl; packages with stuff I ordered off e-bay; a pack of stickers and a broken pen from the children with mortal illnesses campaign. You can imagine the lifting of spirits I felt when I received what was obviously a Christmas card yesterday when I got in from work. I savoured the hint of glitter on the envelope; I studied the post mark and wondered who I knew down there; I opened it carefully and appreciated the cartoon donkey on the front. I was a little disappointed when I read the greeting: "From everyone at your Hyundai servicing centre."

I shouldn't be churlish though. I don't do cards myself. It's as much as I can do to sort it for family birthdays. My colleague makes a charity donation equivalent to x number of cards and stamps. If I did that for all my friends it'd cost me nearly 2 quid. If anyone I know is reading this: Happy Christmas OK. In fact, happy Christmas and Eid to everyone. a robin yesterday