Many years ago I was at a bit of a loose end, so I moved to Brisbane, because everyone I'd been sharing a house with scooted off overseas and I couldn't be bothered staying in Melbourne. I blame Weddings Parties Anything. If it wasn't for that damn song I possibly would've stuck around.
So I was in Brisbane, living in a house that defied the picturesque to be just plain old rotten with some people that I didn't know very well. And the overseas people (well two of them anyway) sent letters from all over the globe, from Vietnam and Hong Kong and Russia and Romania and it was very exciting.
And I would sent letters post restante to wherever I thought they might be soon-ish, and sometimes they'd get the letters and sometimes they didn't and those letters would turn up back in my letterbox having had great adventures in the world.
Today I got a letter from my brother, written while he was on a boat between some places, one of which was Spain, but he had many hours to go before he got there. And there've been emails and photos and facebook entries, but that's entirely not the same thing as getting a piece of paper from another country.
And now my travelling friends from those old days are in Brisbane and I'm here in the heart of the nation and no one much writes letters any more anyway.