P.S

"P.S I'm going to the beach on Monday."

Found this line written in an old greeting card sandwiched between used books at tonight's Red Cross Bookfair.

It was a faded, spotted with age Mother's Day card signed 'Love Antony'. Must have been a bookmark displaced from its final resting place.

I wondered what the significance of the post script was, maybe a bach at the beach or old family home?

It made me sad that maybe this was all the communication between mother and son in a year.

Strange to catch glimpses of other people's lives in a greeting card at a bookfair of all places.

After shuffling around tables perusing book spines and walking around others fixed to their spot rather than give way, I stopped by the 'Children/Young Adults' section.

Several years ago, I gave away my large (150) collection of a particular young adults paperback series. I had written my name rather largely in the first page of each book.

I spied some of these titles on this table and couldn't help checking if they were mine. Instead each was printed with 'Corrine Brunt '84' inside.

Wonder if they'll ever resurface? Reminds me of how 'Love in the Time of Cholera' was used in the rather corny movie "Serendipity'.

My final haul from this year's bookfair included paperbacks: 'Valley of the Dolls', 'Once in a House on Fire' and 'Dreams of Leaving', couple of 'Your Home and Garden' magazines and a 'Pretty In Pink' movie soundtrack.

Hopefully will actually get around to reading them rather than becoming my latest decorative dust collectors before the next book fair.

Lost Art

Letter writing or sending a postcard seem to have become a lost art as email and new technology takes over the world.

In Browsers Bookshop, there is a box of old and new postcards. Most of the new ones are paintings by Edward Hopper (I'm now officially a fan) but some of the old ones are so faded and dog-earred.

It sounds strange to buy a used postcard, but the fountain tip pen message says more about the person than the scene. I read one from Paris that was an apology to a friend for something that they had not spoken off since.
I remember when I was younger, the point of writing a journal was to leave a piece of yourself behind and available to the future explorer who finds it.

A tale popularised by Anne Frank's diary, journals continue to be stocked with locks, flowers and ribbon bookmarks, but I wonder if their charm remains when social networking sites grow in members.

I guess its up to the individual as to what is important. Its nice to receive a hand-written letter or a postcard as fewer people get round to it, even if it has the cliche "wish you were here".