Mother
I wrote this prose in 1982, when I was 14 or 15. For the mild amusement of my siblings, who are pictured in this page as they were 5 years before I arrived on the scene, I will retype it here without any of the adjustments I might like to make (not many, in truth), in lieu of a fresh blog: Mother, with the tellers of coarse jokes. 1962 Mothers are fascinating really. I actually love my mother, and I'm sure she loves me. I take great pleasure in just observing her - for example, it's sweet seeing her and Dad together - I mean, they've been married for nearly thirty years and Dad has been clicking his false teeth for at least ten of those years, but Mum still seems to be fond of him. What I really love doing is watching Mother when my elder brothers get together. They tell rather coarse jokes* and Mother sits in the corner trying to look stern and doing her best not to laugh. It's surprising how Mum changes when the older family is at home. I think she has given ...
