|If I did send cards, they'd probably be like this ultra-cute vintage one.|
I’m in an ethical pickle. Here we are in the most festive of all seasons, and I feel like a Grinch. Why? (Apart from the fact that I like to shove little old ladies aside when spotting the last pack of chocolate reindeer?) Well, I don’t “do” Christmas cards. It’s partly to be green (waste of trees) partly laziness (haven’t I got enough to do?) and partly a scroogey tightness (pay for postage?).
But now I’m wavering. My parents have got to grips with email (dad) and texting (mum) but they are still of the generation which indulges in the “yearly catch-up” through cards. They get millions, each with little story attached (“This is from Elsie, she’s your second cousin once removed, who lives in Canada.... ooh, here’s one from Stinker, our old pal from the International Voluntary Service....”)
But of course with the advent (geddit?) of Facebook, our generation doesn’t need a once-a-year communication with old school pals and long lost colleagues. Every day we can get a little update on what they’re up to, how extraordinarily intelligent their children are, and if we’re really unlucky, what they ate for breakfast and how long they spent on the M25.
I think the last time I was actively excited about sending and receiving cards was at school, where there was a little red postbox, and deliveries at the beginning of lessons. I would spend hours writing alternately in red and green pen, and for my very best friends I would make cards, artfully strewn with glitter and symbols of the Christian faith, such as robins and donkeys.
So maybe one day I will indulge in a little Christmas spirit and start sending cards again. But don’t worry if you don’t get one; It doesn’t mean that I don’t regularly browse through your holiday photos and google your boyfriend.