The weekend provided me with a mixed bag of activities.
Starting with a glass of rosé in the garden of a traditional English pub, I was soaking up the last of the day's rays, while many were journeying to Stonehenge to be part of the Summer Solstice.
I have to admit, I really don't get that Litha thing; very strange.
My weekend continued and concluded with a determined knuckle down to clearing and sorting - a belated spring clean, if you like. Not yet completed but, nevertheless, the back has been broken, as the saying goes.
Countless chronological brochures, containing reasons why the household insurance company, will not pay out on a claim; receipts from Christmas presents gone by (providing a fond memory for a longer period than the guarantee period) and sheets of paper that, at the time, seemed easier to file than discard. All now banished to the shredder, recycle bin or - more than there should be - added back to the pile from where they came ... just in case they're needed in the future.
The most disconcerting items, were the giants' old school photographs, hidden at the bottom of an overflowing filing tray. The remnants of those packs you had to spend hours working out which one to buy, in order to stretch to the furthest reaches of Auntdom (if you see what I mean?).
These photo's were taken at senior school. The one's where the cuteness has been replaced with gawky awkwardness, puppy fat and questionable haircuts. Rather like this one -
- but without the added bonus of very questionable fashion sense!
But here's the thing ... although I kept hold of said photo's - because it would have been a shocking Christmas in Auntdom - if sent. Additionally, this could have raised the possibility of the question 'Have you exchanged your children?' in the returning thank you note too ... what do I do with them now though?
Years ago, we went to Lantau Island, one of the islands around Hong Kong. In those days, tourism was scratching the surface and your entertainment was the Big Buddha and a snapshot of times gone by. Where transport consisted of a water pontoon and inhabitants lived in, what I knew as, a Kampung.
With my childhood asian knowledge, taking a photo of the locals was awkward. A bit like those you see today, of 'celebrities'. The ones taken surreptitiously, look dreadful and are bought to pad out the pages in gossip magazines.
I had been led to believe that, the older Asian generation did not like having their photograph take. They believed that, in capturing an image, you captured a soul.
Of course, as an 'educated westerner' - I really didn't get that; very odd.
Tell me then. Why has it proved so hard to discard the aforementioned embarrassing images of shame?
What is it that causes a heart dip at the thought of dropping them dismissively into the trash can?
It is all very odd and very strange ... but very human?