Various things over the past few days have brought me to revisit what I am doing with my life, what did I think It was all going to be like, etc. So far this morning I have come up with 3 "certainties" that my teenage self decided would definitely happen. 1. To be an Amnesty member, 2. To trace my Dad's family, and 3. That I would live in a 3-storey house. Ok, its not a stucco'd Eaton Square des res, but 3 storey it is (Ten Storey Love Song jingling on the cerebral jukebox), four if you count the cellar. Which is at odds with how to hoover a multi-staired abode. Currently, infrequently. Oh to invest in the technology where a vacuum hose can be pulled from the wall at various points of convenience. Until then, I'd better get down to Argos for one of those dinky car cleaning gadgets. When I was at primary school and we were all looking forward to being grown-up in The Year 2000, wearing silver lame and knocking back food pills, I wanted tv that would let you watch whatever was on that day but when you wanted to watch it. And now we have... but instead of food pills they gave us Gordon Ramsay. Can't have everything, as they say.
The family history has been a doddle. Found the cad who abandoned my dad, but he hadn't died in the 1930's, he died in 1965 in South Kensington. I took a photo of the building he lived in, and had a drink in his local this summer. We've decided to bury the past and not to tell my Dad that it wasn't how he'd been led to believe.
Amnesty soothes my conscience at living in such a barbaric, mad, mad, world. I email and write and annoy dignitaries, but its a small drop in the ocean. And then blog a bit more about buying new earrings...
The rest of my life is largely like it was when I was 17, but with less cider, 100% control over my finances, and without the bulimia, and the suicide attempts my mum and stepfather were prone to.
Meanwhile, the 11 year old is dancing round the kitchen to the Stone Roses.