From a Glacial Wilderness

The northern snow

10th February 2009

Darling one,

I am afraid that an unforseen visit to my Grandma in the wilds of Norfolk has prevented my returning to Manchester on schedule, and though my home town was full of the childish delights of untrod snow and glaciated puddles, the inclement conditions here stretch to meagre mounds of slush and an obscene amount of mud. It is therefore providing no comfort to my melancholy soul, which finds itself in a similar position to that of your own. Not only do I find myself in a similar position about the opposite sex (more of which to follow) but your tristesse is reflected in the that which I am suffering due to my grandma's steady decline to the grave, which has advanced greatly since I last saw her. She is unable to tell me which of her five offspring I am daughter to, and has barely the strength to sit up in bed. This being said, I think she is happy with the life she is leading, her carer is a kindly soul who has allowed her to stay in the home she shared with her husband and children, and panders to her every whim, including the forbidden glass of beer of an afternoon and a sneaky cigarette in the aftermath. She truly is a woman after my own heart.

So it is for this rather depressing but necessary visit that I am deprived of your glowing company, which would surely shed a light on the darkness of life as it stands today. I am unable even to hear your voice, as novelties such as mobile phones are a rarity in these primitive parts, and thus t-mobile have not stretched their signal far enough to me to reach it. Happisburgh, the hamlet which currently acts as host to your humble correspondent is a picturesque little place, and of the antique nature that from my rather unmade up and slightly swollen (I have a rather vexing tooth abcess which has caused a rather unsightly bulge to the left of my nose) face every inhabitant is able to recognise me from my likeness to my mother. On walking to the cliffs I can gain enough signal to send and receive messages, so shall endeavour to contact you on my daily promenade along the beach with the hound tomorrow.

It does sadden me to find my sweet girl in such a grey state of mind, yet in rather a morbid way gives me a little hope that there are others suffering similarly as valentines day approaches. I sympathise entirely; only this morning, in a pensive state reflective of that demonstrated in your message I was considering abandoning all hopes of finding butterflies to follow, and resigning myself to a relationship based on companionship. I was so convinced of my unability to primarily find a subject capable of inducing the delightful sensation of whipped up papilons in my windpipe, and secondly to convince said subject to feel vaguely the same towards myself, that I truly considered it.

I feel that today has been a veritable rollercoaster of emotions. In one's own company, as we have both found ourselves, it all too easy to peak and trough in romantic convictions. You and I have both experienced requited love, and throughout the day the memory of such a perfect state of butterflies has seemed surreal and utterly devastating. In the times when I convinced myself, however, that it truly had existed, it meandered between depression that it no longer is, was and shall not be, and a light hope that it can exist, and knowing that perhaps will happen again.

It is as we said, my lovely Chloe, we are in need of a more mature gentleman to appreciate the complexity of our romantic, literary souls. We will, and shall, find someone who can respect our conversations varying from Byron to the economy, from Austen to immigration, and from Gavin and Stacey to Vogue. It is a matter of waiting. I for one am certain of the fact that we shall not encounter such intellectuals on the debaucherous evenings we tend to frequent, and am stuck wondering if it will have to be in my professional life that I meet the man of my dreams. I feel that I am over childish promiscuity, and yet, though I may have been early, not ready to settle for anyone who does not meet my meticulous standards. Two years hence, however, seems an intolerably large period of time to be without affection.

Ah! The trials and tribulations of the single twenty-one year old! What are we to do?I am certain, however, that the butterflies are out there. Until then, I hope you are still willing to fulfill the post of my valentine? As we are in such similar states of mind I feel we complement each other especially well this year.Do reply with haste, hopefully consenting to my request and detailing any raucous behaviour last night, or any other drama I may have missed.

Love and adoration,
Hannah xxx

Possibly the only place to have signal in the whole of Norfolk...