I picked a particularly nice shade of green from the colour chart when I was 10, & we had moved back into Chesterfield itself. *
- This was all very traumatic, as it was presented as a fait accompli. Nothing was discussed with children in our house - Brother had to be protected from the Shite of Life etc…
Mum did the painting, as usual, & it was nothing like the colour on the paint chart, & I mean at least 15 shades away from it.
I knew that there was summat seriously wrong, as I had inherited my Mother’s ability to hold a colour in my head, as had she, from her own Mother. Nothing about anything rang true at that time. She told me that she couldn’t afford the proper paint, & had gone for the nearest colour, which again, was a Whopper. She was, as I later, but not much, realised, having some sort of breakdown, which seguede into the start of MS when I was 12.
Life-changing for us all, but certainly more than abit Shite at the beginning, when I appeared to be the only one who knew.