The Radwinters…


I mentioned a while ago that I have a new story brewing; at the moment; I’m just playing around with how to write it, the ideas are still quite fuzzy, but here is just a little bit of what I’ve written so far:


I’m just really ordinary looking, I’ve got mousey hair that just lies flat and even though I go to Factory which is the most expensive barbers in Strand it still just sits there flat on my head and flops in my eyes.

I’ve grown a beard because apparently it’s fashionable, so my wife tells me. I don’t like it, I don’t like looking at myself in the mirror with it… I don’t really like looking at myself in the mirror, but at least the beard saves time in the morning not having to shave.

I went to my brother’s the other night. I’ve got three brothers but I went to the second one, Paul who’s twenty years older than me. He’s always pleasant and friendly and not openly critical of me like my eldest brother, Marc, but he is critical. He’s totally honest and being totally honest will tell me how I’ve made the wrong decision here, the wrong choice there. He has a dry wit and makes these comments with a positive suggestion of what I could do having made the wrong decision or wrong choice.

Paul is a success; he’s worked hard – well we’ve all worked hard, but Paul is the one who is most comfortable. He has a wine import business, although his partner, our cousin Max runs that side of it. Paul has a wine merchant’s shop and even in these times of super-market cut-price bargains, on-line sales  and cross-channel wine runs, he makes money.

I’m average height and stout… well, quite fat, actually. Paul is a little taller than me, with silver grey hair which he spikes up, and you could describe him as burly but he always wear smart clothes and somehow gives the impression with his sharp jeans and stripy shirts that he’s not fat, but like me, he is.

My name is Peter Radwinter and I’m a solicitor and I’m thirty years old and I’m the youngest of the four Radwinter brothers.

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