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18/1/2017 0 Comments

My autobiography - revised (part ii)

Although similar in outlook, the terraced houses were distinguishable by the variety of small front gardens. Ours was enclosed by a red-brick wall of approximately adult waist-height. There was a light-blue metal gate, which was never closed - mainly because the hinges had rusted over - making it look like we had a continual flux of visitors who had inconsiderately neglected to close it behind them when they left. The garden part was paved with crazy-paving, which was just as well because my dad was never one for plants. This was evident in the virtual wilderness at the back of the house. Mum used to hack her way through the overgrowth and undergrowth, safari-like, to hang out the washing. I can see her now, teetering down the cracked concrete garden path - peg bag in hand, washing basket tucked under arm - swerving every now and then to avoid the dark-green nettles that seemed to maliciously stretch forwards as you approached. ‘If I’m not back in an hour send out a search party,’ Mum used to joke.

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    I recently completed an academic research project (MPhil) about working-class women’s autobiographies. Now I’m writing my own...

    To cut a long story short:

    My dad and both my grandads were coal miners. I was born in Coalville. I belong on this website. 
    I returned to education as a mature student: got a couple of A-levels, went to university; got a BA, an MA, a PhD, and an MPhil. It was not as easy as that. It was not as quick as that. But I did.
    I have spent most of my adult-life studying something. Generally something to do with English literature: mainly something to do with working-class women. My MA is about Women and God – inspired by and emotively written through my experiences as a pupil at Catholic primary and secondary schools. My PhD and MPhil projects are about working-class women writers – inspired and emotively written through my experiences as a working-class woman in a materialistic and class-ridden society. When I was an undergraduate at university, there wasn’t a module about working-class writing. There just wasn't. I didn’t study any working-class texts. I just didn’t. I once gave a research paper about my PhD (ie: talking about my work) and I remember someone laughingly said, ‘Was there a recession in the 1980s? I must have missed that.’ That just about sums it up.
    I have had no working-class peers. I found them in my reading and writing. In my reading and writing I found myself.

    Welcome to my blog.
    It's basically about me.It’s called ‘My Travel Blog’ (because I’m time travelling through my memories of the past). See what I did there?


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