It would seem that we have entered a new era of round robin letters (and yes, I know I go on about these). I received a Christmas card a couple of days ago from a school friend. Now, think of the round robins from bonkers aunts and cranky, old family friends. You hear all about the lives of their perfect families - 2.4 blue-eyed, blonde-haired children; Clarissa's ballet lessons; little Jimmy's school report (apparently he has imaginative ideas but often fails in the execution); and the planned redecoration of the family home (sub-urban semi, double garage, 100ft garden and room for a pony).

Anyway, at least it is litle Jimmy's mother telling us about the school report - it isn't Jimmy himself. And it's understandable that Clarissa's mother is proud of her solo performance in the under-5's production of the Nutcracker. But again, Clarissa isn't telling me about her rose-pink dappled tutu herself is she? No. She saves that for her mother. People should be able to be proud of their families. In a way, it's rather sweet (albeit sickeningly sweet). But I appreciate it.

But what happens when little Jimmy and Clarissa grow up and move out. Should they continue to subject their friends to round robin letters? Carry on the family tradition? Should they tell their friends - their equals, people largely at the same stage in life as them - that they have purchased a pent-house flat, installed a fish tank, have a 46" widescreen tv on order, enjoyed their skiing holiday in the Alps and are looking forward to buying a multimixer? The answer is no. That's a no. Defacto. No. Definite, no. Got it?

Do my friends need a letter with this year's Christmas card? Should I begin making notes now, do you think? In January, I travelled back to Hong Kong. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, especially practising using chopsticks... I mean, do you care? No. Especially if you're in touch with me on a regular basis anyway and are well aware that I am now able to use chopsticks to pick up a single grain of rice. And if you did care, then you'd read the detritus I post on this website. But at least it's your choice to read it, isn't it?

Incidentally, if you're going through a northern English town (famous for having a University and rowing crew second-rate to Oxbridge) then apparently you'd have been able to see my friend's Christmas tree in their upstairs window. The things you learn from round robin letters. Perhaps they have their place after all... Dustbin, anyone...?