More a sorry scrawl than a signature

More a sorry scrawl than a signature

Visiting the bank the other day I had to sign a bunch of documents that no doubt would be carefully filed away to collect dust in a basement, never to be seen again. By the time I had finished I was uncomfortably aware that no two signatures of mine are exactly the same, even when written in close succession.

It was also a reminder that my signature is aesthetically quite unappealing. The "R" and the "C'' are vaguely passable in a nondescript sort of way, but then it deteriorates into an indistinguishable squiggly mess, or as a teacher once put it, like a "trail of a drunken spider".

It is unquestionably an erratic signature, from which handwriting experts and psychologists would no doubt determine that I am an equally wobbly character, which is probably quite a fair assessment.

One consolation is that the late US President John Kennedy's signature reportedly changed virtually every time he signed anything. So at least I am in distinguished company. Mind you, he was called upon to sign 100 documents a day while I wouldn't match that in a year.

The present White House resident, Donald Trump, has quite a distinctive signature with a certain authoritative appearance, although it has been likened it to a seismograph reading of an earthquake.

The autograph collector

When we enter the world of celebrities, signatures transform into autographs. I have never been an autograph collector, but did weaken on one occasion. In 2007, Sven-Goran Eriksson came to Bangkok as manager of Manchester City and at a press function signed a City football shirt for me.

A few days later I was hunting around at home but couldn't find the shirt. I asked the wife if she had seen it and she explained she had put it in the wash because it had a nasty black stain on it. The "stain" was of course Sven's signature which had all but disappeared after suffering a severe case of Thai washing powder. But at least the shirt was clean.

Inkwells and blotters

I've never had the gift of decent handwriting, which is possibly due to early school days back in the Dark Ages. At primary school, for the first few years we still had those Dickensian-style ancient wooden pens with a metal nib and an inkwell fitted into the top of the desk. Apart from the fact it was difficult to write anything remotely legible with those wretched pens, it was also very messy. Most pupils ended the day with ink stains all over their clothes, face and hands. We had pink blotting paper to try and remedy the situation, but pupils' exercise books were covered in splotches, smudges and ink stains.

Much to everyone's relief, we graduated to using a Bic biro, which was regarded as something of a technological breakthrough at our school. The biro was certainly very welcome, although it did not improve my handwriting at all.

A write off

Now we are deep in the computer age, the standard of handwriting is reportedly dropping around the world. Even for us wrinklies, handwriting is almost redundant. When was the last time you sent a handwritten letter? Apart from compiling a shopping list or maybe a squiggle on a New Year's card, most people are not called upon to write anything.

Virtually all letters which appear in the daily PostBag section of this newspaper these days are emails or some form of electronic communication. But there was a time when the "Letters to the Editor" were handwritten. A reader would have to be really passionate about something to actually bother to write. It involved not just writing the letter, but having to get a stamp and post it and then wait a week to see if it was published. These days it's just a matter of sitting in front of a laptop or whatever banging out the message in a matter of minutes.

Eloquent Edith

In the old days most letters were complaining about something, so in that respect, nothing has changed. People would get furious about the most extraordinary things -- fake crocodile shoes, overpriced donuts, sleeping security guards, dodgy durians, stuffed squirrels, rampant rodents and bolshie buffaloes. And then there was the queen of correspondence, Edith Clampton (Mrs), who had most disturbing experiences with electric toothbrushes and portable potties. Those were the days.

The Lao doctor

Now for the difficult bit. Humble apologies to author Colin Cotterill for unforgivably giving his Dr Siri character Thai nationality, rather than Lao, in last week's PostScript. I can't explain my misidentification of a character much loved by readers around the world. If it's any consolation, I was rightly admonished in emails from irate Dr Siri fans, of whom there are many.

Fortunately you can ask Colin about his new projects at the FCCT this Thursday evening, where he will be one of three speakers at a book-signing function splendidly entitled "Three Old Soi Dogs Down Memory Lane''. Colin will be joined by long-time Bangkok resident Jon Prichard whose entertaining tome of rugby exploits, Taking it up the Blindside, has been well received as he ignores the golden rule of "what goes on tour stays on tour". Crutch, as the most elderly hound of the trio, will also be in attendance before being exiled to Nakhon Nowhere for his geographical shortcomings.


Contact PostScript via email at oldcrutch@hotmail.com

Roger Crutchley

Bangkok Post columnist

A long time popular Bangkok Post columnist. In 1994 he won the Ayumongkol Literary Award. For many years he was Sports Editor at the Bangkok Post.

Email : oldcrutch@gmail.com

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