It is strange, the way the mind works when you see an old image. The thing that fascinated me about this old picture postcard of Carbis Bay, near St Ives in Cornwall, was not the stunning beach, nor was it the near-deserted landscape of a century ago: it was the telegraph pole! It makes no attempts to blend in, it takes no scenic prisoners; it's big and bold and boisterous, the way telegraph poles were always meant to be. Having seen it, I fell in love and found myself visiting the website of the Telegraph Pole Appreciation Society.
I have to confess that I feel like I have been drifting recently: without purpose, without drive, without meaning. Could this old postcard be a sign for me? As I approach my eighth decade, could it be that the rigid discipline and spartan style of an unabashed wooden telegraph pole is just what my life needs?