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A postcard to my son, somewhere in Australia.

Where are you son? I know the rough geographical area, but there’s been no contact for a few weeks. A dad can’t help but worry you see. Not with sharks and roads and religious cults so widespread where you are, or where I think you are.

Is it that you’ve run out of money and can’t afford to phone home? I check the news and worry at any mention of backpackers. I watch facebook to see if you’ve been active and pester your siblings if they’ve seen any snapchats of you recently. But you’ve seemingly disappeared from the virtual world too.

I weave lurid scenarios around the last time I spoke to you, how did you sound? tired, yes, but was there more? I can’t remember. Your mother says “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine”, she’s always had more sense than me and she’s probably right, but then worrying has always been my thing.

I just hope you remember what I said to you every morning as you left for school - be good, have fun, take care, learn lots.

See you soon sunshine.


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All this, and Welsh too.

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