He’s the Man

When asked to write about the inspiring man in my life, I thought my father had it in the bag. As a straight up daddy’s girl it’s a no brainer right?  That path however would’ve led to something way too mushy and heartfelt, so, sorry Pops but I’m gonna save my sickly sweet sentiments for your birthday card.

Today’s final thought goes to my bro, who I’ll admit I’ve had a lifelong style crush on.

special mention to my bro's babein GF (now wife) Emma
special mention to my bro's babein GF (now wife) Emma

 I die writing this but as a toddler, on the day I rejected my nappy, I insisted on wearing a pair of my brother’s Y fronts instead… CRINGE (FYI, still not sure I believe this story Dad). I lived in his cast offs, no party dresses for me, we’re talking skinny fit tees with ‘E.T Phone Home’ and ‘The Fonze is Cool’ proudly emblazed across the chest.

Seven years my senior and way cooler, I trailed that boy like an annoying snotty shadow.  He was born in the late 70s, rocked retro sportswear through the 80s and came of age in the 90s when teen spirit came with a strong smell and the attitude to match. Seriously he was a poster boy for the decade that has defined me: Long hair? Check! In a band? Uh-huh! Oh and you go to art school? Yep! And hang with your rebellious crew? Sure why not.

Called Richard, known to me as Rich or pilchard for reasons I can no longer explain, he reinvented himself as Ricki and wore black, plaid and faded denim pretty exclusively. Spent hours hidden away in his black bedroom surrounded by the band logos he’d hand painted onto the wall whilst listening Pearl Jam’s… (surprise, surprise) Black.

Bro, if you’re reading this, sorry for sneaking my BFF Elaine into your bedroom so she could smell your prized Jack Daniels tee. Sorry for the time me clawing my way into your room resulted in finger nail loss and bruising for me and a week’s grounding for you. Sorry for always pestering your friends, especially the dreamiest  Dom.

And then… there are the thanks youd. Thank you for inspiring me to go to art school, for giving me a proper education in music and most importantly, teaching me to stand up for myself (I’ll never forget the time you were suspended for wearing a skirt to school because why shouldn’t you?). Oh, and for letting me watch all those films way before certified (again sorry Dad).  

Go Grunge