16 April 2020

It may come as a huge surprise to you all, and I apologise if the shock of it all gives you the odd grey hair, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Or even last year. Or the last decade. I am, according to everyone under the age of 40, old.

I am reminded of my relative seniority in many ways. The complete lack of energy after I’ve looked after my grandson for the day is one. The interesting ‘no longer brown’ natural hair colour is another. The fact I can’t read anything without my reading glasses, no matter how far away you hold it. And the constant reminders from at least one of my sons also helps, just in case I’m so old and forgetful that I’ve forgotten I’m old.

And also the fact that this year it will be 40 years since I finished high school…..

My year group at high school worked out, a number of years ago, that it would be much easier on all our memories if we just caught up each year, at the same time of year in the same location. It’s a bit of a mystery each year who turns up, but over the years more often than not there’s someone new at our regular catchups.

And we are now thinking towards our 40 year reunion, gathering photos and memorabilia, trying to work out how the do a reunion in an era of physical distancing, but still….

Now – the photos. You knew that was coming, didn’t you? Back 40 years ago, photos weren’t as plentiful as they are now. I could give a history lesson about cameras and film and so forth – and I possibly will in a further blog – but my point today is quantity.

Sure – it was 40-45 years ago, and chances are the photos have disintegrated or been thrown about as a pile of old rubbish, but there just doesn’t seem to be as many photos of our school era floating around.

Today I babysat my grandson, and me being me, and George being the cutest kid ever, I took around 60 photos and videos. George eating his morning tea, George using a paint brush using the dog water bowl as his paint, George trying to put the dog’s lead on her by bashing her on the head with it, George doing ‘work’ with Simon, among others.

I don’t think I took that many photos in the entire 5 years I was in high school.

George is going to have a million photos of him in existence before he sets his first steps in a school.

So – quantity or quality? I’ve got photos of ancestors that are very significant to me.

But maybe if they took 60 each day, those photos wouldn’t have all survived?

Imagine if I had a photo of my great great great grandfather playing in a dog water bowl??