Recently my mother (yes I’m a post-A Level, pre-University student, it is still socially acceptable for me to be living with her) took down some boxes from the loft to put a dusty collection of cups and saucers in. It’s a kind of dust that isn’t as disgusting as it should be with it’s lack of washing recently, more a kind of dust that makes the collection look like valuable antiques. Anyway, one thing lead to another and the family and I were soon delving into nostalgic pictures from before I was born and of our earliest schoolwork.

It really is a love-hate relationship in most households, personally I can’t stand some of the old videos out of the pure humiliation my two older sisters always seemed to put me under, before my voice dropped a few pitches and I grew to 6 foot 2. However, looking back at certain dated photographs of past generations it’s difficult not to ponder about the nature of the family tree and how astounding it is that out of all the potential variations of gene pools across your family’s history, it was you who was created. Then of course I realised I was starting to think a bit too philosophically about the whole thing…

Which leads me to a cheesy and ‘Hollywood movie-esque’ summary of the whole reminiscence. These kinds of subtle family pleasures are something many people take for granted. It would seem that only once a family member has died do many people truly appreciate such everyday items as a photograph or an old CV etc. To use the popular question stem of the moment: “In these hard economic times shouldn’t we enjoy these kinds of free satisfaction?” Or dissatisfaction if a certain family relic is embarrassing for you.