I’ve been doing much thinking today. I started thinking about how there were many things that I was interested in when I was wee, that nowadays my parents assume my brother loved. It makes me kind of sad, it’s silly but it does.
Like how my Mum is always talking about how much my brother loved the Ladybird Book of Trains, when actually that was me, and he refused to open it because he was scared of the Tay Bridge disaster page. Or how it was my brother that they talked to first about Robot Wars returning, when it had been me that was a bit obsessed when I was little (he was only about 2, so he probably wouldn’t have paid much attention), and it was one of the few things that me and my Dad had actually really connected over, and it just makes me a little bit sad really. Can’t really explain why, it just does.
I’m going to get back to my essay now, aiming for 500 words tonight and I’m at 177.