Echoes of the past

by Julie Alpine-Crabtree

Here in Scotland, where the kids and I are staying until we find tenants for our flat (having well and truly hit the wall in terms of coping in a small, two-bed flat atop Old Street roundabout with two kids, very little in the way of disposable income, one bout of flu following another and more stress than is good for one’s skin or psyche), I have been complaining to my mother about my tinnitus. According to her, it is because I once drank too much and took drugs. “Once” as in at one point in time. There was more than the one occasion, as I recall. However, as my maternal grandmother suffered from the same affliction, I suspect the condition is hereditary. Unless my late grandmother developed the annoying ringing in her ears during her youth following the trauma of fleeing war-torn Shanghai on a slow boat to Australia. And I from standing too close to the loudspeakers at a Bucks Fizz gig in 1983.

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