The Apple DOES Fall Far From the Tree

When I was 10 I had to do a project over the school holidays on London. My sister, ever the sucker for punishment and probably press ganged by my mother, took me on a two week tour of London's sights. St Paul's Cathedral (still have the picture of the transept I took); Oxford Circus (still disappointed there were no lions and clowns); the London museum (complete with authentic smells of Victoriana poo) and most importantly The National Gallery.

Now that was the coolest, ever.

Gigantic pictures of death and gore; naked women writhing around with lots of grapes; kings and queens with stupid poses; and colourful jungles in far away lands. The sculptures were dull but the paintings were another world, each one an opportunity to let imagination and silliness fly.

So this morning I was quietly excited to see my nephew's updated facebook status:
Dewy eyed and sentimental I wondered what tales he would tell, memories he would make and what pictures that might resonate - creating a lasting impression that he too would remember for ever. I made a note to call him later to discuss. A few hours later he updated his status:



Nice.