I miss being dumbstruck alive by sensual things. I’ve been writing postcards and sending them intermittently to friends across the world. Further away the better. There is something tangible about bad handwriting, stamps and a printed seal, a time capsule of silly scribbles you may never receive.

I especially love buying postcards from galleries and side street shops. Its a teenage habit of mine I’ve never shaken despite considerable pressure to do so. In my late teens, I used to bunk off college/university and spend hours in Aberdeen Art Gallery spinning plastic racks of Marilyn Monroe. Many of these remain on my wall to this day.

I love the faith you have to place in the postal services, the fact you may never get an 0 acknowledgement from the recipient. To actually believe your words will be carried by van, train, plane, aeroplane and finally on foot to a letter box thousands of miles away. That’s amazing isn’t it? Just picking up a pen and feeling wonderfully naive.

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