The world feels bleak—and this sense of collective malaise has led me to seek sanctuary in all sorts of small pleasures: literature, classical music (Debussy, Vaughan Williams), animals and my favourite childhood TV show, Postman Pat.
It started in December, when I adopted a black and white kitten after reading disturbing news that animal shelters could no longer cope with the number of animals in need. My home feels less harmonious with two rescued cats and a kitten fighting to establish a pecking order, but I am happy with the new addition—I have the space and love to give. And I am certain, that when we rescue an animal, we also rescue a part of ourselves.
Upsetting news about the pets in need is a somewhat easy problem to remedy; I set-up a monthly donation and made space for a new family member. However, worries about the dire state of the world and the consequent fear of WWIII, aren’t so easy to dispel.
I decided my best option was to ditch the News at Ten and replace it with Postman Pat. It was easy to swap something that had started to terrify me with something that had once brought me joy. And I expected that it still would, because I have always been in touch with the child within me; I have never stopped holding her hand.
It turns out that I love Postman Pat as much as I did 40 years ago. The fictional, animated village of Greendale is as wholesome as the whiff of freshly baked bread. In one episode, Pat almost didn’t deliver the post because the road was blocked with loose sheep. In another, he delivered the post on ice skates because the heavy snowfall made it difficult for him to drive his van. Last night’s instalment was particularly endearing; it was Pat’s birthday and the whole village greeted him with homemade gifts.
It wasn’t just the colourful animation that made Postman Pat one of my favourite childhood shows. Apart from a marvellous theme tune (if you know it, you’ll be humming it now), there was a goodness in its characters; everyone helped each other. And the smallest of triumphs had the ability to save the day (and a village).
Although I began my recent Postman Pat binge in the hope of some light relief, it has led to another unexpected revelation about rural life: that my childhood dream of visiting Greendale has been realised without my noticing. In my small Welsh village, I actually live in Pat’s world.
My idea of a traffic jam is sitting in my car on the high street waiting for cattle or sheep to be manoeuvred out of the way. Not that long ago, on a walk with cousins who were visiting, we came across my farmer friend, Wilf. His little van had got stuck in the mud and my cousins and I got behind it to help push it out. And while I was pushing, I thought, “this could be an episode of Postman Pat.” Small acts of kindness are the yarn that knits Greendale together, much like the village that I reside in now.
It might sound strange that a fictitious, childish television world has grounded me in reality. But watching Postman Pat has given me a different perspective on the world to the one that was frightening me. The goodness I now notice my own corner of the world is equally, if not more, real than the portrait of chaos, division and horror painted on TV news. My own daily reality more closely resembles Greendale than a war zone, and it is important for me to remember that.
When I was drowning in anxiety about Trump’s recent actions, I was overlooking the beauty around me. We are living in a deeply troubling, unstable world, but it’s equally true that I live near a tiny stone bridge almost identical to the one Pat drives over in the opening credits of the show. And not so long ago, I adopted a black and white cat.
