Red Card

Xmas cards. What is the point?

You spend hours writing your own name over and over again, then licking so many envelopes that saliva is but a bitter, parched memory.

Then you spend the same amount of time trying to find people's addresses, rummaging through out-of-date address books and sending text messages to which people don't reply.

And for what purpose? So that you can cripple the British postal service by forcing postmen and women to trudge through the coldest weeks of the year weighed down by vast piles of dead trees. Then, when this forest of cardboard is delivered, you look at it once before letting it sit gathering dust on a shelf before it jumps down the back of the sideboard the first time someone opens a door.

Can you tell I just spent a couple of hours writing my Xmas cards?