There are some fairly ordinary, mundane things in life that when you see
them, give your heart a lift and fill you with a sense of excitement that can
quite transform your day. I will not
attempt to list them as what excites me possibly has no impact whatsoever on
you. I know that is the case because there
are a number of things that many people get quite worked up and excited about
but leave me cold.
The lifetime output of David Bowie falls into that category. Before he died, I could have named just two
of his songs and I didn’t know the title of one of those. “That one about Major Tom,” is how I would
have described ‘Space Oddity’. His
legacy seems to me to be largely based on his clothes choice and his rather
sophisticated face painting but I’ve seen five year-olds who look just as good
if not better. A face like a tiger’s is
much more interesting than one with an angular rainbow on it.
But I don’t want to write about Bowie.
In twenty years time he will be forgotten, just as Wee Willie Harris and
Ronnie Carroll are today. See what I
mean? If he is remembered at all it
won’t be for his music.
A few days ago I saw something that I haven’t seen for many years and
the sight of it brought back all kinds of nostalgic feelings and memories. Lying on my front door mat was a
hand-written, personal envelope. When
did you last get one? I am not talking about greetings cards.
Christmas and birthday cards don’t count.
I can’t remember the last time I got a hand-written, personal letter in
a plain envelope before that occasion and I certainly can’t remember the last
time I wrote and sent one. As far as I can remember, there is only one
person still alive who has ever received a letter from me in a hand-written
envelope and the last letter that I ever sent to that person was more than
forty-five years ago. We still communicate but it is by email and
telephone these days.
When I came home one day just after Christmas, I saw a hand-written note
stuck on to the front door. I didn’t recognise the handwriting and so I
assumed that a neighbour who wanted something had put it there with a request
for me to follow.
Then I read it and immediately realised that it was a message from
Caroline to a delivery van driver, telling him where to leave the parcel he was
bringing to her. We have been together for 20 years and I don’t recognise
her handwriting!
When this envelope mentioned above arrived, I had no idea who it was
from. I didn’t recognise the handwriting; in fact, there is no one whose
handwriting I could recognise instantly.
Some years ago there were possibly ten people whose handwriting I was
familiar with. Now I wouldn’t even spot a letter from any one of my three
children.
I used to worry that my handwriting was scruffy and had the appearance
of being written by someone who was poorly educated. This was of concern
while I was teaching and I had to write about 70 words on the progress of every
child I taught in their annual report. I was relieved when soon before I
retired, reports started to be written on computer and that embarrassment was
removed.
The last hand-written report I ever wrote was for Paul Wyman. The
introduction of computers was the only innovation in 37 years that reduced my
workload. Everything else that was brought in increased it.
I never worry about my poor handwriting these days because I never need
to write anything. I don’t even write shopping lists anymore as I put my
entire supermarket needs on to my iPhone - but I do have to sign things.
I no longer need to sign cheques. I have found my chequebook and
seen that the last cheque I wrote was on March 10th 2012. It
was a cheque for £22, payable to Julian the Butcher who had a shop opposite our
house in Winchmore Hill. However, even he began accepting cards shortly after
we moved away.
When I was about 13, I thought that it was important to have a unusual
and distinctive signature. I spent hours
devising one and then practising it. The problem that I had, and it
proved to be insurmountable, was that no two of my signatures ever looked the
same.
Someone at the time told me that a signature didn’t have to be read,
just recognised and so I tried all kinds of curly, baroque forms. The
curls within it revealed a ‘T’ and a ‘W’ but only if you knew where to look for
them. Every one looked very good upon completion but a minute later, but
without the original to copy, it appeared nothing like it should have
done. In the end I gave up trying.
Consequently, if you ever
receive a cheque from me (and you certainly won’t), you will see that my
signature is easy to read but jejune and unrefined. It is just a scruffy version of,
T J Wilton.
