Diary of a Separation (feeling like heading home but having no home to head back to)
Monday 1st October 2018
At the weekend I went to one of the workshops organised by Carolyn Lilly as part of her annual AfroDance Xplosion extravaganza. To my shame I had never been. This year I managed to make it to Selleu Blagone’s energy-filled session. It had everything you could ask for: from strength-building to tempo-shifting and rhythmically patterned routines, Selleu was the perfect dream teacher.
Saturday 13th October 2018
A feature about fathers and sons in The Guardian reminds me that A has never worn any of my clothes. There’s never been a pass-me-down item of clothing from me to him.
There was the music, though. I still remember the first time I heard Queen blasting out of his room. It wasn’t the usual big-stadium anthems, but the obscure tracks I had saved on our family PC downstairs, in our “office”. Queen became the gateway for him to lap up rock music in the same way the band had done it for me thirty years before.
So, who needs an old shirt, when you can have your old man’s music, huh?
