1. I don’t want to be a might have been

As a little girl I was given a picture by my Grandmother. It was a 1920′s illustration of a young girl enclosed in a threatening, grey/green tunnel of trees. There was a lonely looking house at the end of the tunnel and the girl was holding one hand to her forehead and the other up in despair. The caption read “I don’t want to be a might have been”. As  I had a certain tendency towards theatricality, even at that age,  my Grandmother thought I must have it as it was so me. It had a very evocative atmosphere and sometime it seemed to colour my ghostly dreams. Still I loved it – it was very me.

I took it to university and there it remained remarkably untouched, starring in student films and surviving countless smoke-filled, alcohol fueled nights. It was even given the honour of being re-framed when Mr B and I first moved in together and were absolutely broke.

But here the story changes and the picture begins to take on a more sinister tone. My shining career did not appear on my doorstep one morning, as I had expected, to rescue me. The picture was becoming more real to me, I was lost in its murky leaves, smothered by my own desire for success. Then as in all good stories a wise old man (well not that old – but certainly wise) gave me a piece of advice, “Get rid of it,” he said. He felt that rather than being a mascot for my success, the picture was a bad luck charm, focusing me on the very outcome I didn’t want -  to be a ‘might have been’.

But this painting had been a gift, a family heirloom and it was thought to be ‘quite good’. It might be worth something. But maybe it could benefit some worthy cause. However, the thought of it still being out there, sitting in some dusty corner of a charity shop, disturbed me. I wanted it gone. And then fate stepped in. A local auction house was holding an open valuation day. I waited for an eternity while an old county couple discussed their there Naval paintings and Regency chairs. Then a blazered young man came and took it from me. He was gone for some minutes and then returned with the verdict, “a print, worthless”.

There was a deep lesson in that for me. All those years of beliefs and hopes – worthless. So in the end I took it back to my mother’s house and we burnt it beneath the apple tree. My mother wafting a smoking sage wand to cleanse the vibes (she’s that sort of mother). And it felt great. I’d like to be able to show you a photo so you can see for yourself what all the fuss was about but then again…