Family: you can run, but.
Jan. 8th, 2012 10:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceIn an act of sheer self-immolation, I have been reading (very slowly) a book - Isolarion, by James Attlee - about the street I grew up on, Cowley Road in Oxford. I think the book is an act of journalism striving to be literature, but never mind; it still knows exactly where each tooth point goes. The nature of the street has changed entirely since my childhood, but people still remember:
"The houses were built for workers coming to jobs in the car factory; the Regal Cinema was built to cater to them too. There was always a Saturday matinee for the kids."
My dad worked in the car factory, we grew up in and around those houses. I went to those Saturday matinees. Those and comics were my first introductions to serial storytelling, as we didn't have a TV when I was little. There's probably something longer and more thoughtful to be written about that, as I do still remember the vivid sense of suspense that an interrupted story left me with, the burning anticipation of next week's episode.
In other not-unrelated news, my bad shoulder was appallingly painful in the weeks and months before Xmas, and all the drugs in the world (why yes, I do have all the drugs in the world) couldn't take the edge off. Then we went to Cornwall and visited family, both blood and adopted. Ever since, the knots have been untangling and the pain receding; yesterday was the first day in a long, long while that I didn't even think about a pain pill. Tense much?
"The houses were built for workers coming to jobs in the car factory; the Regal Cinema was built to cater to them too. There was always a Saturday matinee for the kids."
My dad worked in the car factory, we grew up in and around those houses. I went to those Saturday matinees. Those and comics were my first introductions to serial storytelling, as we didn't have a TV when I was little. There's probably something longer and more thoughtful to be written about that, as I do still remember the vivid sense of suspense that an interrupted story left me with, the burning anticipation of next week's episode.
In other not-unrelated news, my bad shoulder was appallingly painful in the weeks and months before Xmas, and all the drugs in the world (why yes, I do have all the drugs in the world) couldn't take the edge off. Then we went to Cornwall and visited family, both blood and adopted. Ever since, the knots have been untangling and the pain receding; yesterday was the first day in a long, long while that I didn't even think about a pain pill. Tense much?