11:13 a.m. - Tuesday, Aug. 31, 2004
Letters
I’m going to make a new rule. All post must be exciting. I’ve just about accepted that when my inbox gleefully announces it contains as many as 15 unread messages, that most of them will refer to the size of my penis. But when real, live, solid mail takes on a similar ratio, or worse, makes demands on my time and money (like I actually have either) I get angry.

I got back from Bob’s yesterday night to find a stack of letters for me. My post has a sneaky way of not arriving at all when I’m here, than flooding in when my back is turned. Five beautiful letters, all white and square, all for me me me!

Letter one, I expected little of. It had the decency to be emblazoned with my phone company’s logo, and to have my name and address in courier font, showing through that little window. I know that it’s a bill for no pounds and no pence for the phone I don’t use any more. I am so confident of that, it’s still sealed and probably will go into the bin that way. (Yes, eco types, one of these days I will cancel the contract and save all that bleached paper).

The second envelope was hand written. Ooh, the possibilities! It was a compliments slip from my hairdresser that they forgot to give me last Thursday. I expected little more, she was a bit of an idiot. But really, did they need to send it to my home, more than 70 miles away?? All it says is ‘Thanks, Laura’.

Third envelope? The bank, asking me to ‘re-asses’ my needs with them, seeing as my account is withdrawn well beyond my overdraft limit. Oh goody.

Fouth letter? Phone company again. Something complicated to do with taking my number from one tariff to another. Pah.

I was most definitely saving the best til last. A fat envelope, from Mordor, in writing I faintly recognised. The first thing to drop out of it was a cheque! Better and better! From my old (and, admittedly, rather odd) housemate Grasshopper. The cheque was £6 re-imbursement for some club tickets Bob and I hadn’t used when we went out for her birthday last October which she had gone on to sell on to some of her other friends. No, I don’t remember either. But nice anyway. And a big long handwritten letter. However, it soon became apparent that between the news of Spira, and her boyfriend (still going strong), and Cockle’s mystery chronic illness (has recurred – awful news), she is actually requesting I pay her back some £40 for some final bills from our house together WHICH WE LEFT IN JULY 2003!!! Hello??!?! I don’t mind paying my way, but would rather do it something less than a year after the moment has passed.

Hmph. In the name of Karma, I’m going to start sending some nice letters soon.

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