However far and fast you run from your parents, one day you'll realise you're back where you started: a chip off the old block, and you never realised until it was too late
"All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That is his." Oscar Wilde wasn't entirely right about this one. The reality is a bit more complicated.
My mum didn't much like her own mother, from what I could tell; my granny Crann reached 4ft 10in at peak height, but was more or less down to eye level by the time I remember her, and her modest stature dictated the course of her life. Her original ambition was to work in the Post Office; except you had to be able to see over the counter. She had a brief and scarring attempt at teaching, but corporal punishment is harder to administer when your pupils are taller than you, so with some relief she accepted the hand of her childhood sweetheart, and tried strenuously not to leave the safety of ho me again.