Thursday, January 15, 2009
Many moons ago in the days when we had typewriters and phone boxes instead of laptops and iPhones, people wrote each other love letters. By hand.
My yet-to-be husband was one of them and I still have a cache in a tin box in a cupboard somewhere.
These days, when we are apart, he emails or texts. Or, worse still, insists on Skypeing.
I have always been a bit of a Luddite, but I cannot take this seriously.
It’s a bit creepy being able to see my beloved sitting in his hotel room thousands of miles away, looking oddly yellow, his mouth moving out of synch with the words coming out of my speakers.
Unnerved by the sight of my head in the box in the left-hand corner of my screen, I’m unable to resist pulling faces and bobbing down out of sight.
I am relieved when the message flashes up: connection lost.
In more ways than one, I think.