Staing the obvious

Down at the Brazil reunion down in Wimbledon yesterday. Every six months or so there’s always a gathering of former British expats who lived in Rio down at a pub near the Common. I don’t know how long it’s been going on for, but I suspect my mother and two of her friends were the prime instigators. Every time it takes place yet more people show up; at the rate it’s going soon the whole pub will be taken over.

Usually it’s the older generations who go. Although my siblings and I come along, I think it’s more for moral support than the prospect that our friends for nursery school will be there. I think we’re usually the only family to come out en masse. Apart from the excellent sausages and mash they do in the pub, I’m not sure how many more times I can endure people I don’t know saying to me, “I remember when you were so high”, while lowering their hand to knee height.

Despite being closer to 30 than I am to 20, I would have thought the comment needn’t be said.