Letter to Leon:
I could describe to you, my child, so much about the time that your mother and I grew up in. Moments in time that we were a part of. There is so much I could say to try to descibe what it was like, actually being alive in the time we were both born, but nothing I could say would do it justice. When I was growing up your grandfather and grandmother were a part of the 60s and 70s, music and culture from that time formed a very tangible part of the environment in which they grew up in. I could read about what it was like then, I could listen to the music. However it’s never the same as actually being there. Within my own living memory I could descibe the miner’s strikes, the power cuts, the banality of 80s pop music, but my words would never be enough. I worried about this, knowing that you would come into the world. That you would ask me what it was like, what your mother and I were like. Nothing I can say would be adequete. I realise in writing this that that doesn’t matter. You will have moments of your own that you are part of. You will live and grow in a world that will be your own. I hope that you have as much joy and delight in that world as I have had in mine.