Tuesday, 12 September 2006


What is this Donald McGill postcard-lady writing on her postcards home?

The postcard or the blog, the sentiments are the same: someone far away, for whom the job in hand is essentially one of relaxation and enjoyment, took time out to tell you that you were thought of and remembered…

The messages themselves are invariable trivial: something about sun, sea and sand, mention of local sites visited and customs noted - nothing monumental or life changing…

I doubt if anyone ever sent a postcard of the Clock Tower at Margate with a note on the back to the effect that contemplating the depth and limitlessness of the ocean had made them realise that their life is incredibly shallow and unbelievably narrow…

What would be the point? As with everything in our lives, there is nothing that one man can show or tell another that can truly convey his innermost emotions… We relate to others’ experiences and feelings only in terms of what we have experienced and felt ourselves - which, at best, may be similar but rarely identical…

I might tell you, for example, that last night I looked across at the towering blackness of Telendos island rising from the moon-dabbed sea and silhouetted against the star-studded sky and, in that fleeting moment, saw a shooting star race through the crowded thoroughfares of heavens in an arc of light and plunge suddenly into darkness…

But to try and tell you what I felt in that split second would be futile.

Sufficient to say, “Wish you were here…”


Scrooge said...

In my role as amateur scribe of such issues, I would relish the chance to have a go at capturing what it was like. Naturally, what resulted would turn out completely different but no matter. Here's one I made earlier..... well following your post yesterday actually about coming home.

On Returning from a Holiday in Greece

Farewell images of plaster white and azure blue,
The warmth of land and friends that wait for you
Is lost amidst the jet’s most modern blast
Propelling you again into the past

Back to those McDonalds streets,
Metros scrunched on tube train seats
Seas of engines, sirens break the peace
Taxi home costs more than lunch in Greece

Welcome to the multi-coloured TV glare
Images of Bush and Blair
And combat men in desert set
Who hate you, though you’ve never met

But still, for all the lack of sun and heat,
Johnson, Dickens, Pepys once walked that street
There’s ‘istory everywhere you stand
For this is Landon, Engerland !

Brian Sibley said...

I am no poet, Mr Scrooge, but to inspire another to poetic expression is, in itself, rewarding... Thank you.

polkadotsoph said...

I'm Pink

Therefore I'm Spam

Shahrzad said...

hi there,

What a wonderful write. It's my pleasure to meet a real writer here. I'm a newcomer to the blogger.com but as I see most people here just write for fun and I just could find few serious writers here.
Wish you the best.