I wrote a letter tonight, to send to my dad. I don’t honestly remember the last time I wrote a letter. Not one that actually got posted, in any case. There have been flirtations with sending postcards, but nothing quite as committal as a letter. It’s easy to assume that letter writing is a lost art. I’ve spoken with a few older people who used to post a letter and wait for weeks for a reply, for the ship to cross the ocean and back. But the reply would come. I also don’t remember the last time I received a letter.

This is an age when even bills aren’t posted anymore. Instead, they might be emailed or be set up as a pre-arranged bank transfer. The post box is filled instead with fliers, ads, promotional offers and, thankfully, local weekly newspapers. I remember loving getting mail, especially when I was in university. It was a sign that someone loved you, usually your parents.

I hope he likes it. It’s something that you can hold. It doesn’t vanish when you hang up the phone.