Ace Jet 170

The Past

I think (think) that's me at the top. It's definitely my brother and my Gran. It could be a cousin but it makes sense that it's me. My brother again below, parking the van, just after my Dad jumped out, "Park the van son" (Dad couldn't drive).

I have a feeling that's my Gran and Grandad in the Herald coming off the ferry. Have no idea where they were going to or coming from. Partly because I wasn't born when these photos were taken and partly because even if I had been, I'd have been too young to remember.

I doubt you really want to hear any of this…But for the record, below you'll see my Mum, Dad and brother with Dad's Uncle Cyril and Aunty Vi – clearly before I was born again. Cyril and Vi were lovely; I have really warm, if somewhat distant, memories of visiting them in Sherborne St John, near Basingstoke (once I got being born out of the way). There was nothing in Sherborne St John except a Post Office. I think (once I'd got a bit of growing done) I was allowed to buy a Topic from there. The main thing I remember though is Great Aunty Vi; she had this amazing Hampshire accent.

I am very proud of the fact that I introduced her to the beef burger.

Slide and Seek

One of the really nice things I did when I was back at my Mum's, a couple of weeks ago, was to go through her slides. I was looking for photos of Dad – which I found – but I found some other great stuff too. No slide scanner to hand so I, rather crudely, used my digital compact and this Jumbo 22. The results are coming up next.

The inside track

…Like I said, it's all about the inside really.

Field Trip

Last Friday saw me leaving Thought Collective, almost exactly three years after joining. It's been a good three years but the call of the wild has been growing strong within my soul. Friday 17th January 2014 saw me embarking on an eleven month odyssey to independent practice via a temporary position with Interpretive Design experts Tandem Design.

That day also saw me taking a long overdue excursion to see Titanic Belfast – Tandem were heavily involved in the visitor attraction so this was an R&D field trip. I could and probably should gush about it, it's a suitably immersive (pardon the pun) and moving experience, helped somewhat by me seeing it on my own (without the distraction of children).

These photos give nothing away. Although it's a stunning exterior it's the inside, the experience, that's the real star. If you can go, go.

Damages

This years Pentagram holiday book records the strange case of the wild dog that sued the manufacturing giant. The plaintiff, one W E Coyote, disgruntled by the poor performance of products purchased from the defendant, the Acme Company, sought damages for loss of income and  personal injury suffered following the use of the afore mentioned items.

With supporting diagrammage and wit, it's a very funny little book. The text, by Ian Frazier, was originally published in The New Yorker in 1990 and re-purposed here with products designed by Daniel Weir and illustrated by Simon Denzel.

You can read more about it here.

Found Type Friday #103

We've been spending a bit of time in the past lately. Proper, personal, family past I mean. Not surprising. It started with me looking for a photo of my Dad but I soon got side-tracked. This is (mostly) my Mum's old Post Office book (with a brief appearance from Dad's). No forgotten fortune inside.

 

Dad

Three weeks before he passed away, three weeks before Tuesday 31 December 2013, we all knew where Dad was heading. We didn't speak of it but we all knew. We kept it to ourselves. Not out of fear; not because voicing it made it any more real. But I do think I was protecting my Mum. She was almost certainly shielding me from that particular truth.

One week before, I asked Mum directly: just how serious WAS this? I felt it was time. From her reply, it was clear that she wasn't expecting him home. Infected, his chest was just one ailment tugging at his already tired body.

Recognising the inevitable, the imminent, was a good thing.

When I last saw my Dad, on Sunday 15 December, he was as frail as I'd ever seen him. He was suffering, he felt rotten, he was groaning and miserable. I fed him a little breakfast and then I just sat with him, holding his hand.

This was an unprecedented act of intimacy between Dad and I. And then, sensing he wanted me to, I prayed with him.

That was the closest we have ever been, the last time we were together. I don't say that to leave a cloud of sadness in the air (although that is perhaps, unavoidable). Far from it. I see that moment as a blessing; the memory of it brings only comfort. And a smile.

I've mentioned my Dad a few times before. Here, here and here.

It's his funeral today. RIP Dad.