Over the years my aunt used to tell me about a time when I was a tot in a restaurant. Apparently a baby girl and
I just sat and stared at each other, transfixed. Unimpressive though it sounds now, it sowed
seeds in my imagination. And, when you have a mind that goes on without you, each new retelling
waters those seeds.
At a similar time to putting pen to paper, or finger (singular) to typewriter as it was in those days,
I began another short piece. My Dad ran a television repair shop.
A bit of an institution in the village, and only slightly to the left of the centre of the universe to me.
When he decided to close it down I tried to capture some of its unique essence in words, only very
few of which I made up.
Eventually I merged the two projects into one and developed it through a succession of blogs into what
it is today. I have no idea if/how it'll change over the coming years. I'm in the dark just as much as