Dear Brooks

It’s gone!  Letter number one has left my hands, maybe even the county by now.  I sent it from Falmouth post-office, which is a horrible ‘corporate’ place compared to my local one – I won’t go back there if I can help it.  It’s odd, but I never expected a post-office to be so important a part of the process; a place like that destroys the sense of intimacy that you build when you make a letter.  I much prefer the haphazard little counter at the back of the village shop where the files are hand written and form towers that look like they’re about to topple over, somewhere a bit Dickensian where you can while away the queue time reading posters about obscure events.  Somehow it just adds to the whole experience.  My letter, squished into a Hessian sack, travelling the length of the country, dancing to Auden’s rythm.  That’s how I picture it, how I want my first letter to make its way to its intended reader.

With love B x