The bookshop manager, the cyclist and the angel

Mothers are funny. They like pictures of their children. They also like pictures of complete strangers that happen to look like their children.

After Mother-of-witch died, I had some clearing out to do. Among the weirdest things I found, was a health type magazine with a photo of myself on a bicycle. For those who know me, this will sound very unlikely. I don’t think I had posed with a bike since about the age of eleven. But whoever the cyclist was, she looked just like me. And that must be why the magazine article was saved.

When Daughter was about four, my friend came round some time in December. She looked at our Christmas tree and wondered why I had Daughter as an angel, hanging from a branch. When I looked more closely, I realised the angel was the spitting image of Daughter. I think she came from Ikea.

Round about the time I knew Son would be going to Edinburgh, I came across his (almost) photo as an award winning bookshop manager in that beautiful city. I took that as a sign, and ordered Son to seek part time employment in this charming looking manager’s shop. Teenagers are slow, even when they look nice, but this week he started work there.

And none of this makes any sense whatsoever. I know. But it’s warm, and none of you will read this anyway, because you’re all sitting on a beach somewhere.

6 responses to “The bookshop manager, the cyclist and the angel

  1. That’s very funny – my elder son actually looks rather like Eoin Colfer. At least he shares those wonderful Irish fisherman eyebrows … what do you suppose this foretells for his future? If it’s that wonderful bus then I’m sure he’ll be very pleased.

  2. If he gets that bus, please remember to invite me.

    It’s only the Canadians who are commenting today. Either you don’t have a heat wave there, or you are so used to it that you still use the internet.

  3. Not on a beach but actually WORKING! And still reading Bookwitch of course….

  4. This sort of thing happened to me – and not just once, but twice – in my teens. A stranger came up to me, addressed me by name (once it was ‘Susan’ but I can’t recall the second), and began a completely incomprehensible conversation. Now I know that I can be muddled, and a lot of my writing is definitely verging on the incomprehensible, but in both cases it took me at least 5-7 minutes to convince the other party that I was not, in fact, pretending for a nefarious reason. I’ve always wondered about those Dopplegänger, but didn’t have the presence of mind at the time to get some useful – traceable – information.

  5. That reminds me of more instances. Son was apparently the double of the greengrocer’s baby, which caused confusion when I went in there.

    And when Daughter was three, or so, she had a double who also hung out in the primary school playground waiting for HER brother.

  6. Btw, Adèle, I thought you were taking a long time off this summer, doing nothing?

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