Hippy Gipsy Mother

A few years ago my youngest son started college in Sheffield, instead of staying on for sixth form at school. The director was telling him off and said 'You don't want to turn out like your hippy, gipsy mother'. My son nearly walked out there and then. I got a desperate call at work, and I managed to speak to one of his other tutors. I didn't want him to leave the course. He had only been there a couple of months. The situation calmed down. It wasn't meant as a compliment and it was also a strange assessment of me in the circumstances, as we had only met once. Rather than take it any further, I made a decision then to make light of it, to transform it into a kind of compliment. So when I saw this lovely Clare Leighton print in a local charity shop, I bought it, framed it and it hangs on our kitchen wall. I am reminded of my 'hippy gipsy' nature as I send off CVs and job applications. My archive traineeship comes to an end in March. I haven't had to face up to unemployment since I came back from Morocco in 1981. I have had a wealth of experience in some fascinating jobs - though the wealth hasn't been monetary. I'm hoping my adaptability and ability to cope with change will get me through the next couple of months. Sadly I can't read my own palm nor do I have a crystal ball. But I will carry this image with me in my search.