The Sixth Tale- Our Parental Youth

After a much needed trip home to Coventry recently, i was having one of my many chats with the mother. My mum and I have always been close but out releationship has been tested greatly in the past. Thankfuly now with all hatchets buried i count her as one of my best freinds and closest confidants. (Happy belated mummy's day Stephanie Rixon).

I think when asking my mother about her youth and the days sweating it out at gigs and clubs with all the cultural groups of the 80's, she gets a tad nostalgic. I can tell when she sings tunelessly to her favourite's Elvis Costllo, The Clash and David Bowie. This brings me on to the fact i love hearing about her previous galavanting pre-motherhood. I ask her about the local dives she used to watch bands some i now go to; and the horrific (and the utterly fabulous) attire she decked herself out in.

I am a strong believer in the fact most of us in some way are influenced by our parents. From a young age my brother and myself have had a great love of music, mainly from the ages before us. For instance my father used to play the Gorgeous Fleetwood Mac in his dirty pick up truck on the way to school, childishly beeping the horn so all unsundry of the playgroud can see our undesirable mode of transport. Thanks Dad! However now if im in a club or hear the melodic tones of the fleetwood five i am taken back and a burst of happy nostalgia takes over. I always smile inwardly.

My Mother and Father no longer together and unfortunaty no longer friends still shared a love of music and fashion from their youth. Old photos depict dad in his winckle pickers and slashed t-shirts, mum with her New Romantic style make up and pixie hair doo. I am glad they passed on their interests in me and my brother, it has shaped the person i am today. I cant say my Nanna is too happy whenever i return home with a 'bleached to within and inch of its life' haircut and tatoos she insists must be transfers. Even so she saves me a little selection of scarves, belts and cardigans she would be black bagging if her grandaughter didnt think them a handsom booty.

So heres to where we come from and why we are the people we are.