Letter 34

Sometimes when you plan things, every time you think about them you do a little giggle to yourself. This is how I've felt over the last few weeks, planning this particular letter.

Lots of other blogs talk a lot about stationary and the joy of nice paper and pens and sitting and writing and keeping things neat. Even making your own envelopes. I haven't had the wherewithal to do that, but a few weeks ago I got the chance to make my own paper at the great Armley Mills. (To be honest, I hijacked the childrens activity.)

What you do if rip up lots of bits of paper, soak them in water, blitz them in a blender, then build up layers of the paste over some gauze. Then drain it a bit and flip the paper off onto lots of dry newspaper and leave it to dry. Those are very loose instructions. You'd be better to look it up properly.

Anyway, my starting bit of scrap paper looked like this:

Yes that's a stranger's drawing of David Bowie. I wonder who will receive this newly made paper?

Basically, you don't need to know the details, but I wrote my beloved and nice poem on this paper and sent it to him. I preceded it with an email that was meant to tease, but in fact what quite ominous. It went something like "Soon you'll understand ..." and a picture of David Bowie's face. Daz said it thought it was a Dear John letter. As if, I know when I'm onto a good thing. The poem, I won't mention, as I imagine my words are a pithy cross of John Betjemin and Ted Hughes - the reality is as far away from that as I am from somewhere very far away indeed.

But it's a love token. Sent from the heart. Awwwww ....