Tag Archives: Nostalgia

Mum would wear black and Dad would be drunk

At one point during a friend’s recent wedding, she rose to the podium and delivered a speech that included plenty of praise for her parents for raising her the ‘right’ way. So like all things, I thought about it and then brought it back to myself – would I say the same thing about my folks?

When I was younger I was desperately envious of her parents. Normal, loving and undramatic, they were the kind of people who gave their children middle names like Jane or Anne, wore non-descript clothing, actually read books and could hold a conversation without saying something dreadfully out of place and in a weird accent.

My small Christian primary school was full of them. None of the mothers wore Dirty Dancing midrift tops, crimped hair or false eyelashes. Their fathers didn’t play the banjo, smuggle knuckle dusters in from Asia to join his collection of swords, have a weakness for Guinness and go to church. And the normal mothers didn’t coerce their children into dying their hair… in kindergarten, or make them wear mini skirts and over-the-knee suede boots… to church. Continue reading

An introduction

Sometimes I think we all blog and tweet as a form of self-preservation.

When I was around 13 I was obsessed with diary writing as I thought it would help me to remember my candy memories when my mind was older and otherwise occupied.

I’ve missed a lot over the past few years and it’s a shame because when you can’t remember you can’t get lost, you can’t billow.

Today the winds are cold and infusing. They rattle my white windows and remind me of love. Not of the lingering love I once experienced, but of the air streams that momentarily swept me up.

I still remember them all. None of the feelings were ever reciprocated so I had a penchant for collecting poetry and sad songs.

I think I liked it that way.