ABSTRACT
In the summer of 1997, the Observer colour supplement, a magazine then entitled Life, ran a sporadic series of columns entitled ‘Before I say goodbye . . .’ by the journalist Ruth Picardie. In the midst of glossy advertisements for expensive consumer items, solid features on a range of subjects, a lifestyle section peddling yet more expensive consumer items, and just before the television listings pages, these articles appeared as if they might have been yet more fluff for the lazy Sunday-morning reader. Indeed, the first sentences of the first article did nothing to dispel that illusion:
You’re 32, a stone-and-a-half overweight, depressed by the stains on the sofa, and have never come to terms with having piggy eyes, but still, life is pretty great: you’ve got a husband who can make squid ink pasta and has all his own hair, your one-year-old twins are sleeping through the night, and, as for your career – well, you might be interviewing George Clooney next week.
