A short history of correspondence with my family…

When I was (much) younger, messages to my family were sent on something that looked like this, an aerogramme. They were designed to be lightweight (to keep the delivery cost down) and easy to use - you folded over the gummed, protruding edges to seal it closed. But, with telephone calls expensive, and even middle class Indian homes not always connected to the telephone, they were how you kept the family in touch with what you were doing.

Of course, the advent of the internet meant that aerogrammes were increasingly irrelevant, and it appears that the Royal Mail gave them up in 2012. I admit that I hadn’t noticed.

In truth, I am at best an erratic correspondent, even with e-mail and social media. I mark family birthdays when they are noted by others on the family WhatsApp groups - there’s one for the Valladares’s and another for the cousins and second cousins - and I’ll occasionally exchange messages for significant events, but it’s a bit haphazard.

Ros encourages me, but she knows that it’s a bit of an uphill battle and I sense that her expectations are low that I will actually deal with the matter in good time. This year is a bit different though.

Inspired by the family gathering earlier this month, and aided by Ros’s prescience in purchasing a goodly supply of charity Christmas cards, I have handwritten seventeen cards and matching envelopes, ready to be posted to Canada, India, New Zealand and the United States, one for every cousin and second cousin (and their families) on my father’s side, plus the surviving members of my father’s generation - and there aren’t many of them left, sadly.

It may seem a little sentimental, and maybe it is, but seeing so many of my family up close and personal did bring back some memories. And nothing says that they matter as much as a handwritten card with a brief but heartfelt message. I now also have a full set of addresses for the first time in a long time, which means that I have no excuse not to repeat the process next year.

I will say this though, it’s not a cheap thing to do at £3.40 per card, and you can quite see why people increasingly revert to e-mail these days.

I’m not expecting anything like a full set in reply. After all, most people don’t have Ros to organise them, and life is hectic and complex. But I will have a warm sense of satisfaction that I have reminded my family that I care about them enough to wish them a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, wherever they may be.

A pleasant dinner, interrupted by someone being murdered…

I’m always open to the idea of a good meal, and when Ros suggested dinner at the Suffolk Food Hall, I warmly welcomed the notion. There was the small detail that the dinner was part of a murder mystery evening, but that didn’t put me off particularly.

And so, last night, we set off into the dark of a typical late-November evening towards the south bank of the Orwell, just below the bridge which carries the A24 towards Felixstowe.

Whilst we were early, we were far from alone and, before long, were encouraged to find our dedicated table in anticipation of the puzzle to come. As more of our fellow guests arrived, a small clutch of people in 1920s outfits began to mingle amongst us, setting the scene for what would follow, an investigation into the death of Sir Edwin Chelmsford, the High Commissioner to India.

I had ordered the pork as my main course, and began to suspect that I could expect more pork by way of ham acting but, let’s be honest, you’re not expecting Olivier at these things, are you?

In fairness though, the co-ordination of the meal with the sleuthing was very well done, and an excellent three-course meal was successfully combined with the task of attempting to identify the killer and their motive. Combined with an enthusiastic troupe of actors playing the dramatis personae, it all made for a thoroughly enjoyable evening, even if I entirely failed to spot the key clue and thus drew an incorrect conclusion as to the identity of our murderer.

Before we knew it, three hours had passed, and it was time to return to the darkness and make our way home. All in all, not a bad way to spend an evening…