Old School

How can a shared reality that is really a fiction bring so many people together?
It might be the story of every institution and belief system. Yellow socks and school rules, all made to be left to hang and be broken, these are the threads that hold us together.

What kind of comradery between those who have been through certain ‘ranks’? It cannot be simulated.

I’m reading ‘We Are Iran’ at the moment. The book of real blogs. They share so much yet are each a prismatic view of the same situation. When the authoress comes in on the show, what will I ask her? Me who has so many questions…

At work today someone from my old school came in. It was not the first time he had come into the gallery, but this time I was more sure it was him. Once we had recognised each other I noticed how we were immediately on the same level. That is the result of 9 years of boarding school life where a child goes home only every 6 weeks. Words we understand that noone else does – such as ‘housey’ and ‘squit’ and memories to be conjured such as the smell of wet wool coats and the splinters that the dormitory floor gives one through bright yellow socks, but in the midst of absolute fun, one never cared about.

Anyway all this is the subject of another website altogether: MY 16th CENTURY SCHOOL

Meanwhile I am in the middle of a island that is distancing itself from any shore, and there are negative forces.

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