Not even a pillowy panettone or the most lethal of brandy butters can beat the thud of a round robin letter on the doormat. It’s that perfect concoction of mundane detail (how the electric car is faring) and low-level bragging (news of a child’s Oxbridge acceptance letter) that make them so tantalising, the ultimate yuletide indulgence. You simultaneously snigger at how on earth this distant relation could think you’d be interested in the trials and tribulations of their daughter’s grade eight trumpet exam, while combing through it with the diligence of a lawyer. If our Instagram addiction has taught us anything, it’s that we are, after all, interested in the seemingly irrelevant status updates of day-to-day life. And here it is in its purest form. A stream of consciousness about all life’s wonderful banalities, peppered with badly disguised boasts.
The alternative, of course, is a soulless card addressed ‘To you all’ with an illegible signature tail ending it, which musters the same level of festive goodwill as a business card being slapped into your hand.
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