Every picture …

… tells a story, no matter how short.  This photograph of my Dad was taken some time in the mid sixties. A reserved character, a man less likely to take a ‘selfie’ is hard to imagine, but this image looks distinctly set up and posed, not least because the armchair is positioned directly in front of the TV.  I can only imagine this was an assignment for the camera club – ‘this week gentlemen, we will use the tripod and timer to produce a self portrait in natural light‘.  Not bloody likely would be my Dad’s instinctive reaction but he would eventually soften as he did in most things.

A keen amateur photographer, he was also a compulsive reader.  The trip to the local library on a Saturday morning was a lifelong ritual.  For this image he has chosen a Fodor travel guide gripped by Senior Service stained fingers.

The TV was a Grundig, our window on the world.  It was this device that told us of JFK’s assassination, gripped us as England beat West Germany in 1966 and was intolerably switched off when Bob Dylan first appeared on the BBC. Every Monday and Wednesday evening at 7:30pm it was tuned to Granada TV for Coronation Street.

The TV is no more but the brass snuff box on its top remains. The most unlikely objects survive us.