I've been at a point with my parents where I think we're all equally wanting to kill each other on a daily basis, close as I am to moving out and with their big house move on their doorstep. But at this time I'm taking moments to really appreciate what I can of them. My brother Barney and his girlfriend Charlie, (who I am in love with), have been here tonight and Mum's gone off to a small holding course - which I'm told is something to do with alpacas and goats and milking and farms. We all had a long talk about killers and nazis, which was fascinating. Barney and Charlie went to see Anne Frank's hideout and we all got talking about the inhumanity, and trying to work out how something so evil was so easily carried out.
Anyway. When it came to bed time, I went and brushed my teeth and had a wonderful talk with my dad. We spoke about his family and his lovely father, my grandfather, who I wish I had met, but who I feel I sort of know well. My grandpa was one of those popular town men. He owned a shoe shop, he knew everyone, was smiley, never had a bad word to say about anyone and was honest and kind. The man that everyone knew and loved. Think Ned Stark, except without the beheading.
Our parents, (I'm using the term 'our' there to mean each set of parents, not that we have the same parents. Don't panic.), our parents are extraordinary people. They have lives, whole bundles of memories that we have not seen. It used to baffle me, that we could be so much a part of their life and yet not have lived through all their development and progression. I think it's nice to sometimes ask them about some of it. To learn things about their lives.
Every year there is a guest speaker at South Wilts' school speech day, and they invite in these ex-students who talk about how marvellous it is to be a successful pilot and how they remember fondly the rolling of the school kilt. Which is all very well, and har har and so on, but within the school there are incredible stories, that we do not know. Mrs Mackay, for instance, was in the military and felt she was not taken seriously. So she cut all her hair short and dyed it platinum blonde to say 'fuck you' to all the narrow minded men around her. Why do they not tell us about these extraordinary people around us? It would inspire many people at the school to feel compassion towards teachers and to see the teachers as role models and idols. Not to sound too cheesey, but having had a mother who ran the choir there, I have heard some hugely interesting stories behind teachers' lives.
Anyway. Here are some fantastic photographs taken by Megan Plenderleith's boyfriend on their travels. Inspiring:
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