A stamp of approval for the art of the letter

Has anyone got a stamp? I ask, forgetting who I live with. I’m about to post a birthday card. “Oh yes. I have one of those,” says Middle Child unexpectedly, with the pride of a detectorist announcing the possession of a coin unearthed from a Viking hoard, and heads up to his lair to retrieve it. Back in no time – which is also unexpected, since you could lose a three-seater leather sofa up there (which in fact I have) – he hands it over.

“There you go. I was saving it for when I write a letter to my friend in Melbourne,” he says.

“A letter. How very old-fashioned. And romantic.”

“Yeah. Well you can use it just now. And I’ll get another one when I’ve written it. Or I might hand it over when I go in six months’ time.”

I look at the stamp. It has a euro logo on it. “Thanks but it won’t work. We need a British one.”

“A British stamp, what’s that?” he says. “One with a Queen’s head on it.” “Aw, yeah.” I was going to add that it’s been the same image since 1950, unlike the coins, where her image has been updated. And also that she always faces left on the stamps but on the coins the image changes direction with each new monarch. So Charles will face the opposite direction, left, like the queen’s father did, while she faces right. But Youngest Child isn’t in to annoy and to say “No-one cares”, so I don’t bother.

“This has a euro logo on it,” I say instead to Middle Child. “I don’t think that would get your letter to Australia anyway, even if you use it before we leave the EU. She might have to pay extra when the postie delivers it, or collect it from a depot, what a hassle.”

“S’alright. I’ll just ask her all about it next time we’re online.”

An online discussion about sending a letter he’s going to take six months to write then will probably hand deliver?

And they say romance is dead. n