A while ago I recounted the story of the day before Christmas Eve, when my mother suddenly presented me with a picture of my father. I hadn’t seen him, or (to my knowledge) a picture of him since I was around four or five. Needless to say this came as a bit of a shock, even though I had mentioned to my mother in passing several months before that I didn’t remember what he looked like.
This feels a bit like cheap melodrama, but it’s probably one of the most important things lingering in my head at the moment, so I should probably share it with the world. Imagine my shock when I realised my father (bottom-right) was a big, baldy, 70s-style beardy-weirdy…
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