Letter to Rebecca #24-04

When is a letter not a letter? 🧐

In case you're new here, this is my latest letter to

Rebecca Holden

. She and I are both Brits, and we take it in turns on Wednesdays to write to each other about matters of consequence¹, such as potholes, the weather and tea. And other things as well.

Enjoy!

My Dear Madam

I am honoured to acknowledge receipt of your letter. Having been reading Sense and Sensibility, I am wondering if today’s letters are far too casual or informal. What do you think?

On the subject of Sense and Sensibility, I raised a question in the literature class I attend in order to learn about Jane Austen.

Me: All these people seem to think about is who is going to marry whom, and how much money they have. Therefore, would I not be correct in suggesting that Sense and Sensibility is basically an upmarket version of Made in Chelsea or The Only Way is Essex²?

Boy, did I receive a drubbing from the largely female class. The tutor asked me if I’d like to respond. I answered “That was my first, and possibly my last, contribution to literary criticism.”

Now there’s a funny thing: all the literature classes I do, and creative writing classes I sign up for or teach, have many more women than men on the register. I’m not sure why that is.

I remember having the following conversation with the 14 year-old daughter of some people I know:

Me: I was reading about some research that has shown that girls have a much greater proportion of their brain devoted to language than boys.

14 year-old girl: I think we all knew that.

I was interested in your suggestion that these letters are not letters at all. “Well”, I thought to myself. “If that’s your attitude then I’m not going to waste time writing to you. I’ll get an AI assistant to do it instead.”

This is part of what it generated, based on the prompt “Letter to Rebecca that is not a letter”:

Unsent letters have a unique power - they provide us with a safe space to pour out our deepest thoughts, emotions, and regrets. "Letter to Rebecca That Is Not a Letter" explores this cathartic practice, delving into the unspoken words and unexpressed feelings that linger within us.

Pretty deep, eh? It goes on:

The phenomenon of unsent letters dates back centuries. From secret love letters hidden in pockets to angry missives tucked away in drawers, people have been using this form of expression for ages. It's a way to communicate without actually communicating, to say the things we wish we could but just can't bring ourselves to do so.

Blimey.

Ah, Rebecca. The one who got away. Well, not really, since she never existed in the first place. But let's pretend for a moment that she did, and that we had a complex and tumultuous relationship. As we reflect on this fictional connection, we're transported back to the beginning, reliving the magic of those first encounters.

Wait a minute! AI never lies, and it is telling me that you don’t exist and never did. So who am I not writing these unsent non-letters to?

My brain hurts, so I’m off to watch Made in Chelsea.

OK, I’m back. How disappointing that you misread my reference to blue plaques as “blue plague”. Very imaginative, but even so. I mean, I even included a link to the blue plaque website for heaven’s sake. <Sigh>

On the subject of fame (which blue plaques are, really) I once managed to convince a class of 13 year-olds that in the film Saturday Night Fever the feet they show in the dancing squences are not John Travolta’s but mine. They asked me how I got the job and I told them I sent the film producers a photo of my feet.

Terry was reading the latest letter from Rebecca, when he came across this passage:

“I think with your preference for floor sweepings loose tea puts you at far more risk of imbibing infusions of cobwebs and pocket lint from the factory floor than I – a user of teabags – am.”

He almost choked on his tea. “Floor sweepings?!”, he spluttered.

Your reports of letters that consist of “Dear mum and dad, love Jamie” reminded me of those pointless notices that councils sometimes erect, like “Do not throw stones at this notice”. Chortle.

In case you are interested, my saxophone lessons are coming along well. Do you happen to know of any bands who play everything at half the correct speed and which are looking to recruit a sax player? Last week I had this conversation. with the tutor after a particularly squeaky rendition of When I Fall in Love:

Me: Do you think perhaps I ought not to give up the day job?

Tutor: Well, I don’t know what your day job is. You’re not a saxophonist, are you?

And on that note, Rebecca, I will wrap up this non-letter and will look forward, as always, to your reply.

I remain, Madam, your most humble and obedient servant,

Lord Tel.

Note to peeps reading this: make sure you see Rebecca’s reply by subscribing to her Substack,

Dear Reader, I'm lost

— and to mine, of course.

Thanks for reading this. Comments always welcome.

1. The phrase “matters of consequence” has, of course, been borrowed from The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

2. These are reality tv shows featuring rich people who spend all their time discussing their love lives and who fancies whom. I find them a good antidote when I’ve been thinking too hard, because they help me to shed excess brain cells.