Two days of work, a beach day, a tax return and a funeral; I am finally ready for chapter 13. As chapter 11, Brut aftershave, was kind of based around my dad, 12, lemon layer pudding, on my mum, 13 is going to be on the kind of friends that children don’t really have anymore, my pen pals.
I had quite a few pen pals, most, maybe all, of whom I was in touch with through any one of a number of horse magazines that I would buy when my pocket money stretched to it. Just writing that now, “pen pals”, it seems incredibly old fashioned and makes me feel old … but in a good way because I loved writing and receiving letters then and I still do, though considerably fewer now.
In my pre-teens, I had friends, the real kind that you actually meet up with, chat to and play with, I also had my imaginary horses (I don’t recall having imaginary people friends), I had some pen pals, none of whom I ever met, and I had a pen pal who was the daughter of my mum’s school friend and someone I did occasionally see. As an only child, I had plenty of other children (and imaginary horses) to talk to, play with and confide in.
The photo is of washing hanging out as two washes interrupted my progress. And a mug of tea, but that’s inevitable.