More notes from the madhouse

I appreciate this is becoming a little self-indulgent so I promise it is the last. Whilst packing away the original prints from the previous post I came across this one which I had completely forgotten.  There is something weird going on here, like the Munsters go mad on holiday.  To the left Uncle is stood to attention in his flat cap, as though about to preach a sermon, oblivious to the chaos around him. Unique in my experience, my sister has adopted my patent Quasimodo pose whilst the bemused cousin is backing off in fear of this strange girl’s antics. Aunt is hiding in the shadows of her monstrous Jaguar SS, too sozzled to emerge.  Mother, washerwoman arms folded (her description not mine), is in earnest conversation with Pop who, if I remember correctly, was stone-deaf.  I am of course putting on another performance – Dad is hiding behind the camera, probably the Brownie 127. It is a wonder  we all survived – everyone agreed, it was a miracle indeed:

7 go mad

Weekly Photo Challenge: The Hue of You

I am neither stardust nor golden but some mornings I do wake up feeling like billion year old carbon; which reminds me – I may share the same DNA as my Dad but in many ways we were complete opposites.  He was of an entirely different hue; when he retired he became passionate about stamp collecting, if such a thing be possible – when I left full-time employment (spot the difference) I bought a small Suzuki, eventually acquired my Category A licence and then immediately upgraded to a Ducati.  I can hear him now – “It is time you grew up my lad” – he wasn’t the last to say that either.  I remain defiantly juvenile as my wiser and older children will testify.

My hue? – for the most part I dress down in clothes designed to look well-worn and lived-in, predominantly blacks and greys.  To compensate, my prized ‘toys’ have a silver and golden hue – not bling, just tasteful and very quick :-).  This is the Imola 72 bodykit version of the Ducati 696+ which has the capacity to delight and terrify in equal measure:

Monster 696+Monster 696+Monster 696+Monster 696+

Henpecked, my Dad may have settled too easily into a retired life but as I have written elsewhere, I have admired no one else more. He is still around – I see him in the texture of the skin on the back of my hand; I hear him when I rant at the latest idiocy on television; I sense him in the room when I rest my elbows on the table, hands clasped in contemplation above a dinner plate – “get those elbows off the table Robin – but Mum, Dad’s doing it!”.

This is Dad as a young boy, fooling around in front of the camera – on the left with his Mum and on the right with an inner tube on the beach:Dad

Spot the similarities – this is yours truly, also ‘gurning’ in front of the camera, an old lorry inner tube lying on the sand:On the beach in the 1950sIt was a habit I found hard to break – chastised for “ruining the photographs“, in retrospect I think a guest appearance by the junior Quasimodo changes the hue of an otherwise dull family photo :-).  (and that is the Kodak Brownie 127 around my neck)Cullen