Printed from WriteWords - http://www.writewords.org.uk/archive/8461.asp

The Photograph

by  PaulaBlake

Posted: Sunday, January 23, 2005
Word Count: 400




Mum has cut my hair again, badly. We havenít been able to afford luxuries since she and daddy stopped living in the same house, trips to a real hairdresser included. Today is Sunday, bath and hair wash day. My long fine hair has gone fluffy and due to my mother being scissor happy, my fringe seems to have decided not to like my eyebrows.

My sister and I hate having our picture taken. Mum doesnít just take a few snapshots, she has to set the scene (usually with a backdrop of a sheet, or carefully arranged furniture and a daffodil or two) she makes sure we look ok (as ok as you can with one inch of fringe), tries us in several poses while we wriggle about making each other giggle to releive the boredom, then she is happy and takes a single picture. She must know what she is doing because that single photograph is usually perfect.

We have a big big garden with a few fruit trees, a greenhouse - where my grandad grows giant sunflowers and tomatoes, a vegetable patch and swing ball. Unfortunately the railway runs along the bottom, and we have to keep away in case we suddenly get run over by a train. We have a big double fishpond with a bridge over it. I dipped Molly in there once, feet first, I thought she might like the water but she wasnít pleased and ran away for a while. I didnít know cats donít really like to swim.

Once we had a pet rabbit, Thomas, he was a lovely, grey ball of fluff with one white rabbit paw. He didnít stay long, and went to play with the angels one day after next doorsí Alsatian came to play with him.

Mum has got me sitting on the bridge over the pond holding one of her roses (that happens to smell like Nanny) up close to my nose. She hasnít taken the picture yet because the wind is blowing my hair across my face. I donít know how long I can sit still in this itchy brown polyester dress of mine.
ďlook over at the greenhouse, thatís it, hold still, no you're squinting, look at the house, and back at the greenhouse, try to stop your hair going in your faceĒ Mum is funny.

Whereís my Sindy doll? I wonder if she want's a swim?