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UB40 at the Sink

 

UB40 at the Sink

So this is a memory — maybe a memoir blast, maybe just one of those bits that still glows. Teenage years. I’ve recently come back into contact with someone I grew up alongside back then.

We were best friends, until we drifted in our early twenties, and just not in the typical teenage‑girl way — more like two girls running parallel, each in our own world, but connected.

We were also just two girls moving alongside each other, doing our own thing, happy together navigating the horrendous hormonal role of teenage‑girl soup. I think we were each other’s “make you feel regular,” regulators, because we were both neuro-diverse and didn’t know it yet.

I spent the happiest part of my teenage time in the middle of her and her sister, then the younger sister and brother. She had a fabulous mum — the kind who cared for me without making it a big deal. Just let me fit.

Her memory of me — the one she sent back — was washing up at my house. Doing the dishes at the kitchen sink, washing and drying. Dancing to UB40. That’s what she remembers. I love this one sentence.

And honestly, that was my teenage years in a nutshell. Side by side, doing our own thing, yet together.

That’s the blast.

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