Wish you weren't here?

At first glance, the plain grey cover of Martin Parr's Boring Postcards seems a telling indication of what lies inside. A selection from the compiler's personal collection, the postcards are reproduced as he found them: some faded, some stained, but all mind-numbingly dull.

But the book would never make a good coffee-table companion if that was all it had to offer. So, although it does exactly what it fundamentally promises - each postcard failing to arouse any interest other than a 'look at the way we were' titter - a second look reveals a much deeper purpose.

What seems like a cheap dig at the souvenirs of post-war structural achievements could actually be an invaluable piece of commentary on past British identity - an idea recently backed by Parr in his bequest of the cherished cards to the Victoria and Albert Museum.

From the celebration of what Mulberry Close in North Thoresby has to offer, to Preston's new bus station, the book shows how post-war Britain was optimistic enough to celebrate aspects of life that now seem fairly insignificant.

Although it is this historic romanticism that holds the book together, it wouldn't be worth picking up if it weren't a little tongue-in-cheek. Postcards such as that of a uniform campsite with the proud 'OUR CARAVAN' scrawled across it can't be greeted with anything except a laugh at the provincial British outlook of decades past.

The style-conscious may understandably shudder at the collection, but there's no denying that the humdrum style of the cards was popular for nearly 20 years. In a country obsessed with irony, it's perhaps more frightening to think that they could easily come back into fashion.

Boring Postcards (new in paperback), edited by Martin Parr, Phaidon, £6.95