I arrived at Hobbycraft sane, sensible and sporting bunions.
Until I found myself in the art department, eyeing up A1 mounting boards.
And then - BAM!!! - stepping outside, clutching my boards and being buffeted by a gale, I was immediately transported back to Art School, circa 1984.
Minus the bunions and infinitely younger.
How does it happen? How can such mundane activities trigger such vivid memories?
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| My teenage bedroom, a work in progress. |
Art School.
I remember my first day, September 1983.
I was just 16, and wearing cropped trousers, a mohair tanktop and a beret.
I remember how laid back and incredibly cool it all seemed, how we all had our photos taken by the tutors, who insisted we'd be unrecognisable by the end of year one.
I didn't believe them, but - oh my goodness, how right they were!
I grew up in Art School - my mum would say ''off the rails'', but I prefer to describe it as a particularly rocky road through adolescence...
It was a time of dodgy fashion, dodgier boyfriends...a lecherous tutor who kept trying to get me to model for him...of unrequited love on a mohican clad student who had just as big a crush...on my friend!
Of Adam Ant and Boy George, of parties, of London - of the infamous trip to Cornwall.
Yes, I packed a lot into those few years - and for some reason never actually finished the course.
But I did get given the book that would shape my life.
It was called ''How to be a kibbutz volunteer.''
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| My first boyfriend. |
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| London. |
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| Cornwall |
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| Hazel...where is she now? |
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