Memories of Postal Orders

 I’d organised my revalidation paperwork yesterday and will complete my reflective essays when I’m on nights at the weekend, so there was not excuse to sit at my desk today. 

I took the dogs to my favourite bit of promenade where we walked for miles…. an amble broken by a large Americano at the Horizon cafe for me and a shared sausage butty for them.

There was a light rain which was refreshing 

It felt warm.

In the silence of a long walk, I remembered arbitrary memories, like you do when your mind wanders in croc squeaked steps.  

When I was a boy I collected film stills. 8x10 black and white film stills bought for around about a pound each ( without posting) from the British Film Institute . The institute was located at 81 Dean Street in London.

And London felt a million miles away.

As a child, I could only pay for my purchases with a postal order, a green one with extra stamps for postage. I haven’t seen one for years.

Once in every two or three weeks a single photo would arrive in a neat cardboard backed envelope marked with a stamped do not bend instruction on the upper left hand corner.

My name and address would always be formally typed and because of its size the postman would leave the package neatly behind the milk bottles, milk bottles that would be stripped of their red foil tiles by the blue tits in the garden. 

Those envelopes , were exciting and important 

And they put me into the habit of loving post of all kinds,

A love that remains with me to this day.

Funny what you remember when your mind wanders into mindfulness 

In my case today

It was of 1970s postal orders, photographs of disaster movie stars, and a strange and unchanging love of letters through the post

Trying for a beach selfie , I only caught Dorothy’s strange fixation with me