When I was young I kept a memory book. A memory book, for those who don’t know, is like a diary for the lazy, with only sporadic entries required or expected. I dug it out yesterday. I didn’t write it to be entertaining, but how I laughed reading it. Kept mainly in my early teens, unsurprisingly it’s mainly a record of unrequited crushes and worries about kissing boys. I also recorded a few of my (undated) feelings about my mam becoming pregnant when I was 15...
“The way I feel now is...weird. Mammy is going to have another baby. When it’s my age I’ll be 30. Ugh! It’s so weird. WEIRD!”
“We’ve decided on names for the kid.
Boy - Marc
Girl - Averil
I’m not so keen about Marc, but still, it’s better than Evan.”
“Mammy went in to hospital at quarter to five. I feel so confused. It’s the end of all the familiar stuff. It’s not a cousin, it’s a brother or sister. HELP! The world is so full of hassles. I hope I don’t cry in the hospital.”
“It’s a girl. Born at 1.27pm on Sunday, 30th June, 1996. Avril Victoria Francis. She’s gorgeous. I cried when I heard. I’m such a wreck!!! She’s home now. She is sooo cute.”
That’s all the mention you get from those years Avril. Sorry for being a bit uncertain about you at the beginning. Eighteen years on though, and I wouldn’t swap you for the world!
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