why is everything, redux.
Sewing. Went into Central London, bought Christmas presents for TWO people and am now staring at my bank account with a horrified feeling. I do however have some banging fucking bloomers in which I look rad as shit. One of the characters for the next project - Aaron Kirke - has developed the most beautifully clear character voice, down to accent and everything, which I do not normally get this early on in the business of futzing around a story.
My father sent me photos. I have no idea why he has done this. Current emotional state, contrasted with this morning's weird euphoria: DEAD INSIDE. COMPLETELY DEAD. EMPTY LIKE A SHELL.
Me and my mother.
Top: My mother, 1977, or as my father has it in the caption “the summer of the Sealed Knot”. The photo batch contains some of the usual milling about in costumes stuff as well.
Bottom: My father modelling someone’s Cavalier costume - possibly my mother’s? - for their final exhibition, sometime in the late 70s/early 80s. The propensity to dress up like a tit at the drop of a hat remains strong in both him and me: I have one of him in a straw boater where he looks the spit of Simon Callow.
My father and his twin sister, who died in February this year aged 59. I knew enough about Jane to be angry that she did not have a better life, but I kind of hang onto the idea that the last man she married was a good one and that she didn’t die on her own.
Top: Paternal grandfather (farfar). Despite me having been alive since 1982 and him not dying until about 2003, I only met him once that I remember, because that is how my family works. A shame, as he was one of the few I ever got a good report on.
Bottom: Newly-wed great-grandparents
Top: Great-grandfather. Farm labourer and watercolour artist. I knew about him by reputation (not grand) but now he comes with a name. Charlie.*
* Not mentioned on Tumblr: also an alcoholic. Who drove his wife to literal insanity.
Bottom: The caption on this photo includes “died at [name of hospital]. committed during her menopause. full frontal lobotomy. no grave”.
Despite barely seeing him I seem to have inherited all of my personality traits from my paternal unit. As you may see here.
It's weird seeing where my face has come from.
My father was in the Navy as a young man. And was inspected by the Queen Mother. apparently.
My father sent me photos. I have no idea why he has done this. Current emotional state, contrasted with this morning's weird euphoria: DEAD INSIDE. COMPLETELY DEAD. EMPTY LIKE A SHELL.
Me and my mother.
Top: My mother, 1977, or as my father has it in the caption “the summer of the Sealed Knot”. The photo batch contains some of the usual milling about in costumes stuff as well.
Bottom: My father modelling someone’s Cavalier costume - possibly my mother’s? - for their final exhibition, sometime in the late 70s/early 80s. The propensity to dress up like a tit at the drop of a hat remains strong in both him and me: I have one of him in a straw boater where he looks the spit of Simon Callow.
My father and his twin sister, who died in February this year aged 59. I knew enough about Jane to be angry that she did not have a better life, but I kind of hang onto the idea that the last man she married was a good one and that she didn’t die on her own.
Top: Paternal grandfather (farfar). Despite me having been alive since 1982 and him not dying until about 2003, I only met him once that I remember, because that is how my family works. A shame, as he was one of the few I ever got a good report on.
Bottom: Newly-wed great-grandparents
Top: Great-grandfather. Farm labourer and watercolour artist. I knew about him by reputation (not grand) but now he comes with a name. Charlie.*
* Not mentioned on Tumblr: also an alcoholic. Who drove his wife to literal insanity.
Bottom: The caption on this photo includes “died at [name of hospital]. committed during her menopause. full frontal lobotomy. no grave”.
Despite barely seeing him I seem to have inherited all of my personality traits from my paternal unit. As you may see here.
It's weird seeing where my face has come from.
My father was in the Navy as a young man. And was inspected by the Queen Mother. apparently.