…My watch strap has broken and I don’t know why.
This morning we had our class photographs – our individual ones, not a group one.
Ugh – it was awful.
You just can’t get away from them, even at secondary school.
We had a supply teacher for a bit, who was called Mrs Parker.
Imagine if she was Mrs No C. Parker.
But of course there is no name as “No”, so this would not work…
I never looked my best in my school photos, but I could have done without other people calling attention to this fact. The nadir occurred when, after being “done” at some point in my mid-teens, a teacher came up and said to me (and everyone in the vicinity): “What’s up with you? You look dreadful. Haha!”
I tried to think of a pithy comeback, but I was too humiliated.
Thankfully I was now at an age where I could plead pointedly and successfully with my parents for them not to order copies for their family album.
I was happy for them to remember me this way: