Postcards eh! Remember them? We used to buy plenty and send them home to impress our friends with the fact that we had actually been somewhere abroad - somewhere exotic.
In those early years of marriage when package tours were still shrouded in a degree of mystery, we would write home from the faraway beaches of Hvar and Corfu, places that had been out of the reach of all but the wealthiest of our parents' generation and impress upon everyone what an adventurous young pair of travellers we were. And the cards would eventually arrive. Usually when the last touch of brown pigment had faded from our skin, the novelty of ouzou with everything had worn off and everyone had tired of our telling of the encounter with a large, mahogany skinned, naked German on some remote Yugoslavian shore with its hilarious punch line "Guten tag".
Yes there was something innocent about postcards wasn't there? They belonged in the days of kiss me quick hats and rock with Blackpool running right through it. And yet if you look in most news kiosks or tobacconists in resorts throughout the world you'll still see them today, usually fading or starting to curl up at the edges in some carousel gathering dust in a corner awaiting a trip to the tip, a trip that's being saved for when all the cards have been sold- a trip that will never come.
We haven't received a post card for years, so I'm sending this one to blog readers to remind you of what a marvellous institution they were.
Writing this from Locanda Cipriani on the tiny Venetian island of Torcello. Just spent a wonderful five days relaxing in the beautiful little town of Asolo. Weather perfect, food and wine delicious. Wish you were all here.