Christmas. Probably 1981. Living in a flat on the second floor of a terraced house in St John's Way, Islington. The 'landpeople', Martin and Margo, live downstairs. I work as a Care Assistant. I am a lazy skinhead. I smoke. I have appalling dress-sense and a bit of a beer-gut (when I stand up), not helped by the fact that my limited selection of t-shirts usually gets shrunk in the wash, along with my cardigans. I live in a dream, always in the Then, hardly ever in the Now. Certain of things. The poster. You can't see it all. It's a soldier being shot, with the text 'Why?' in one corner. It's not the famous Cappa shot. Is it posed? The question didn't occur to me then. I wouldn't put it on the wall now. I still feel the impulse which led me to do so but something about being older perhaps, thinking more about what it would be like for the man, stops me. The blue box is full of mainly classical records, waiting for the day I can afford to buy a record player. There is an old, white telephone. The star on top of the tree is home-made.
I found this photo the other week and thought I might post it. I was nudged into doing so by a collection of old photos -including a similar photo- on John Hayes' blog, Robert Frost's Banjo.I mention this as I'd hate to be held solely responsible for inspiring a meme, but 200 words, let's say, written in the present tense about an old photo of oneself seems quite a good one to pass on.