He was the captain of Sheffield United and by the time the photo in my mum’s album was taken they’d moved down to Weymouth where he was managing the local football team. Her former glories: mink coats, holidays abroad, big rocks and grand static caravans were a distant memory; she’s pretty in the picture. I’d say it’s 1970 or thereabouts and her hair is croppy Mia Farrow. The husband, him all huge sideburns, opened collar shirt and teeth that look like they’re having a party is sat in some pub. There are half a dozen or so of those small half-pint glasses with the handles filling a table and she’s wearing a pan collar dress. It’s bright florals and probably Polyester. She’s my Aunty Sue, the original WAG.
The husband’s long gone now – a bit of a lothario according to mum, but Aunty Sue still retains that air of top table at a wedding. She says funny things “I’ve always been trim” and “There are tons of marcasite clip-ons in a bread bag upstairs, somewhere.”
When she came to mum’s at Christmas she looked incredible: fake fur leopard print boots, there may have been a couple of feathers. And then the bag, the fabulous bag in even more leopard. But it had a leopard on it. A painted leopard on leopardette. And that leopard had a choker sewn around its neck. This somehow morphed into the handle. It was a feat of engineering. She got it in Malaga at the airport. As seen in the current issue of 10.