Letter writing seemed to be a big part of my childhood. Endless thank you notes to grandparents for Christmas presents and distant aunts who’d kindly nestled a fiver into a card, dedicated correspondence my friends and I would write one other as teens despite the fact that we saw each other every day and pen friends I found through a school charity scheme that brought me these delightful notes from countries as far flung as Bosnia and St Lucia. But in adulthood, most of the letters I receive are bills and the ones I send myself, well other than birthday cards and the like, are few and far between. (Click link to continue reading)