I have frantically been running around today finalising stuff for my show in September before I go away, working my way through a Mount Everest of dirty washing and chauffeuring returnees around.
So I thought today just for a change I would offer a small extract from a postcard from one of the ‘exiled’. It’s always good to see another perspective from a family member. Especially in view of my observations just a few days ago about the Childline generation.
“I selected this postcard as it was big and attractive, with the vague hope that it would be noticed and read and not end up in the administrative pile to be read when I’ve gone to university, if then.* I hope you feel bad I’ve resorted to a postcard as you couldn’t be a**** to sort out a [foreign] phone. I fear the social services will be called, as each phone-home session I sit alone in my room. A sad picture. (…)
Don’t forget I exist and don’t forget to pick me up from the airport. ”
Bless her little cottonsocks. I am very much looking forward to collecting her from the airport tomorrow. As if I would forget. As if.
*she has two, if not three more years before she goes to university