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Monday, February 1, 2016

117. Check it and see, One more time for me

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 

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