I saw an ex-pupil of mine in the gym the other day. I had vaguely noticed his entries on Facebook over the last few months, wondering how a relatively undynamic and ineffectual young man could be living such such a fulfilling life what with all the parties and events and friends he seemed to be juggling. In the gym it didn’t look that way. He had noticed me and wandered apologetically across to say hallo. Pehaps a bit overweight and not looking as if he was flourishing particularly. Of course, I had confused his Facebook persona with his real life.
It got me thinking about Uncle Joe and Auntie Peg and their holidays in the Seventies and how they regaled us with how remarkable it was in Minorca orMalaga or Benidorm, and how we who holidayed in Blackpool or Colwyn Bay envied them. Only years later in accidental, tangential comments did some truths about the holiday experiences of Joe and Peg come out. They hadn’t been such great holidays after all.