A NICE fat envelope thudded onto my doormat last week, proving that emails have yet to kill off physical post. The New Zealand stamp was a giveaway that this was a missive from my second cousin in Wellington, who is usually the first person to send a Christmas card – but September is a tad early, even for her.

I prised open the flap to find a wad of yellowing newspaper cuttings from the 1990s. Sample headlines: Princess Diana supporting a local air ambulance appeal, Max Bygraves to perform live in Cleethorpes…

But most importantly, to me at least, a series of columns written when I was a wannabe journalist bothering my local newspaper in Grimsby for column inches and bylines. These I regarded with a mixture of delight and trepidation.

Delight, because most were composed while working as an English language assistant in a French secondary school, at a time when I wrote for sheer pleasure rather than to pay the mortgage. My memories of the experience are as rose-tinted as a Dordogne sunset.

Trepidation, because at 23, I thought I was the centre of the universe and that it owed me a living. I had little concept of word count or discretion – imagine a pub bore on the page. When I finally found the courage to read my “Letters from France”, I cringed at my lack of self-awareness, not to mention any thought for the person at the other end.

Who did I think would find my tales interesting, beyond immediate family?

Some of my well-meant “witticisms” sound rather cruel with maturity, and even drew a stinging letter from a French person who did not appreciate my humour at the expense of her compatriots. Fair enough. “You got a letter,” said a well-worn hack. “Take it as a compliment that someone cared enough to write it.”

Thirty years on, I hope I’ve learned a thing or two about writing a column. I aim to be relevant and relatable, entertaining when appropriate, thought-provoking if possible – and always informative.

I understand not everyone wants or needs to know my opinion on any given subject, so if readers choose to spend their precious time ingesting my words of, ahem, wisdom, the privilege is almost entirely mine.

I recently begun to include my headshot on my columns, on orders from above, with instantaneous results. Neighbours tell me how much they enjoyed my thoughts on recycling. Liz from Threemilestone, who I don’t know from Adam and have not paid, emailed to say my column is the first thing she reads each week in the Voice – praise indeed.

Online, social media is the 21st-century equivalent of an old-fashioned letters page, only quicker and with less effort. My plea to give the RNLI a break from relentless small-boat related criticism saw daggers drawn between supporters and naysayers.

Some comments, like “stupid artical [sic]”, I can live without. Occasionally I point out to the keyboard warriors that I’m a real person, with feelings; I accept not everyone will agree with me, but if I can take the time to choose a subject and present a coherent argument over 800 words, the least you can do is compose a considered and literate rebuttal.

On LinkedIn, a friend of a friend asked whether a column “is really journalism”. Well, duh. To be fair, it probably depends on the columnist – she had been at the sharp end of someone she felt was ill-informed, which a good journalist should never be. If ever I find myself over-justifying an argument, or tying myself in knots to avoid offence, I take that as a hint it’s not the right topic for me.

The arrival of Cousin Sue’s mail is a timely reminder I went into newspapers because I loved having a physical product that would last through the generations. However, the way we consume news has changed almost beyond recognition, with many digesting the headlines online, for free, and barely touching a printed page - and so we must adapt, or die.

Last week, the Voice newspapers, along with our sister titles The Cornish Times and the Cornish and Devon Post, introduced subscriptions for our online journalism. As well as daily updates of the top stories west of the Tamar (and my column), a digital subscription buys an ad-lite experience – no pop-ups! – a regular newsletter, and access to the e-editions of all titles across the Iliffe Media Group, from Tavistock to Shetland via the Isle of Man.

Many will huff at the prospect of parting with cold, hard cash for something they are used to getting for free. However, I’d argue that good writing is worth paying for, just as we once did with newspapers; and on a personal level, I would be immensely grateful for the support. Who will put food on my table otherwise?

I will continue to cut out and keep my columns for as long as possible. I know I’ve written a good one if I enjoy reading it back. Here’s hoping that in 30 years’ time, I will read this one with satisfaction – although in what format, only time will tell.