Photo Love

We are back from our Easter break, which was great fun, involving a sort of ‘gathering of the clan’ with my brothers and their families. The strategy of hiding the Easter eggs on Saturday night worked well, although a couple of the sparkly wrappers proved irresistible to some local magpies. I just managed to prevent my youngest son from eating one egg that had acquired its own slug, but I doubt he would have noticed in the general chocolate feeding frenzy.
There is something about returning to the place in which you grew up that brings you down to earth with a bump. As the youngest in our family, I am always at a huge disadvantage in that all my brothers can remember every embarrassing episode from my formative years (and believe me, there were many). As if this wasn’t enough, my Dad’s house is bursting at the seams with photographic reminders of some hairstyles and outfits that can only be described as “experimental”. Here I am in one picture proudly sporting a brand new perm that makes me resemble a blonde Brian May from Queen. In another, I have a fringe that is so aggressively tong-ed that it looks as though a giant sausage roll is taped to my forehead. As the chronological freak show moves on, I am pictured in various sporting team photos – wearing full make up! In fact, plum eye shadow figured so strongly in my adolescence that I am surprised the social services were never called. Even in my twenties, at every family wedding or christening, I am clearly trying to compensate for something by wearing the biggest shoulder pads and largest hats I can find. Lastly, and most cruelly, are my wedding photos. It was only ten years ago, but for both H and I, the years have not been kind. At least they are only head shots, so the full extent of the decay is not immediately apparent. We look impossibly young and healthy in these pictures. For starters, we both had much more hair. Thankfully, after the birth of our daughter, we drop off my Dad’s photo montage completely, to be replaced by pictures of our kids, first as babies, now as children.
I am drinking a glass of Yalumba “Y” Viognier (£6.99 Ocado) which is a little bit sweet on its own but goes nicely with the supermarket Thai curry I will be ‘cooking’ tonight. I am trying to work out when my children are likely to start being embarrassed by the copious holiday photos we have of them messily devouring ice cream cornets. Judging by their mealtime this afternoon, which was more like feeding time at the zoo, that day is a long way off.