I’ve just finished reading Simon Hoggart‘s books about Christmas round robin letters, The Cat that could Open the Fridge and The Hamster that Loved Puccini.
In them, he laughs at the letters sent round at Christmas time by perfect families with perfect children who love music and schools and exams, and who all go on perfect holidays together.
It reminded me a bit of the School Run section on Classic FM, where records are dedicated to Storm, 5, who loves playing his bassoon and whose favourite composer is Mozart, and who started secondary school last year; is this just another form of showing off?
Simon Hoggart’s books are funny, and laugh at people who rightly deserve to be laughed at, but part of me couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable.
I receive a handful of round robin letters a year, and I can’t think of one instance where I’m not glad to received them. They’re from people who I care about, but who don’t figure enough in my life for me to catch up with them on a regular basis. That doesn’t mean that I’m not interested in what they’re up to, and their letters give me an insight into what’s happened over the last year.
So I don’t know what to think about round robin letters, and whether they’re a good thing or a bad thing. Good thing, I think.
But the first person to tell me about Storm’s bassoon career may get hurt.