‘Let’s not forget who we are and what we’re actually here for…’, my grandfather posed to me in his reassuring intelligent tone on a sunny summer afternoon.
I am the fourth generation Francis Charles Goodeston, foolish name I know, but my family has always adhered to tradition in an almost archaic manner: my mother doesn’t work – she never has done and never will. Wearing a tie on the weekend is common practice for my father. Playing tennis in anything other than whites would truly be a travesty for my parents.
I am an alumnus of Oxford.
I am a stout six foot tall: not fat or athletic, just stout.
I am successful and work hard for an awful lot of what I have.
I am relatively young and have my whole life ahead of me.
I am not sure what I’m here for though – I should have asked my grandfather that sunny summer afternoon…
