My Parents were both journalists.

Mum spent a lot of time typing on an old (not old at the time) IBM composer (we are a Mac family now ).

Dad often went abroad. Sometimes he met with Spies in Stockholm, other Journalists in Stuttgart and sometimes he stood on the roofs of City buildings as one side or another bombed the bejesus out of the other.

Pity he'd forgotten that he had a wife (typing frantically on the composer) and two children back home (he was in the process of having a third child in Germany at the time but that is another story),who worried about him. . .

Luckily those bombs never hit him or the buildings he stood on.

He'd come home after some months away and I'd watch him on television occasionally. I'd listen to him make speeches about certain atrocities that people were inflicting on people somewhere in the world.

My parents ran an international political newspaper. Dad was the editor. I spent a lot of time sitting listening to adults talk as they proof read or brain stormed or whatever groups of politically minded grown ups do.

My father is now a tiler after a stint as a printer and graphic designer.

My mother works in the front office of a plastics factory. . .She has a forklift license

LB