How much, exactly, do you love it when you get a letter in the mail? One that’s addressed to you, not the alarmingly frequent notices from the debt collector’s office for the previous tenant? One that’s not the latest optus bill? I love it as much as I love that summer holiday feeling – when the skin on your shoulders is tight with colour and your eyelashes are frosted with salt. I love it as much as I love walking home in the night rain, milk crate toppling from my head, singing and spinning circles in the street because I’m drunk, because I’m happy. I love it almost as much as I love boarding planes knowing my backpack is in the hold, waiting for the next adventure. Which is a lot. I really, really like letters – reading them, writing them, sending them, pulling them out of what’s surely the ugliest letterbox known to man, which sits proudly atop its’ pebblecrete pole in my pebblecrete front yard.
So when I heard Women of Letters was coming back to town, I was pretty excited and thought it was only right to share. It’s a celebration of the art of writing letters, curated by Marieke Hardy and Michaela McGuire and this time the ever lovely Holly Throsby will be there as well as four no-doubt-equally-lovely ladies who I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know. You might, though – Lally Katz, Libbi Gorr, Loene Carmen and Mandy Sayer.
Red Rattler, this Sunday. Letters, wine and a dj set by Nina Las Vegas.