Saturday, January 21, 2006
The curls have gone and he's heading towards six feet tall and spending every Saturday at the races with his Grandfather. He had several outfits, all colour co-ordinated, all expensive as was the Givenchy aftershave. He had a habit of 'borrowing' the old boy's silk socks and usually the last word as they left was Dad saying "let me see your feet". He learned the art of talking to all ages, manners, race course etiquette and how to scam his way into the Members. They forged a bond not often seen these days between the generations.
We'll forget the sixteenth year. The year of the graffiti artist. The year of his first formal and his first and last hangover. He threw up all over his father's tux even managing to fill the pockets (don't ask) but missed the shoes, the only thing we had to hire. This was the year we bought him his first professional camera and the wild life photographer was born.