Readers' favourite photographs, songs and recipes
*Snapshot*:* Dad's heroic beach technique*
Changing tents are a somewhat counterproductive invention. Flapping frantically in the sea breeze as wearers totter around trying to put feet into costumes, tents probably attract more attention to bathers on the beach than were they to perform a striptease. In the photograph, my father demonstrates this phenomenon at Embleton Bay in Northumberland, in 1981. The tent is at least (home) made from a discreet maroon fabric and not the earlier towelling garment in a daisy pattern on orange background that was probably better at attracting attention than a high-vis jacket.
My brothers and sister would wolf whistle as the wind blew the tent up his legs. Dad would finally fling it off with a flourish, likening himself to Charles Atlas and striking a muscleman pose. A fine figure of a man – to use his expression. He then jigged off to the surf.
Entering the sea, he ran in as fast as he could for as long as he could. Then he spun round on to his back to immerse himself and kicked like fury, creating as much foam and the highest spray possible. He puffed out his cheeks and whooped and hollered.
Later, Dad watched us while we swam. He paddled about 30 yards away with his trousers rolled up to his knees, reading a book. Wrapped around his neck – like jumpers on a cricket umpire – were our towels. We were soon rolled up in them and blissfully cosy next to Mum at the back of the windbreak.
Dad died in 2007. To me, he will always be that man standing in the sea. Often in the distance, but always there and utterly dependable.
Paul Kirkwood
*Playlist*:* How our marriage got on track*
* *
*Never Tear Us Apart by INXS*
"I was standing / You were there / Two worlds collided / And they can never tear us apart"
One Sunday night in February 1989, I was at Birmingham New Street railway station on my way back to Warwick University after a weekend at my parents' house. It was the usual Sunday chaos – trains cancelled, delays and changes to platforms. As I scanned the timetables, trying to find the next train to Coventry, I was joined by a handsome student also trying to navigate his way through the confusion. We smiled as our eyes met over the same section of timetable; he was on his way back to Coventry University.
When the train finally arrived, it was standing room only and we chatted nonstop throughout the 20-minute journey. I was in my second year of a languages degree, he was a physics undergraduate but, like me, he was due to spend the next academic year on placement in Germany.
In Coventry we set about our farewells. I was overcome by the feeling that this might be the last time we ever met. The thought was so unbearable that I mustered the courage to ask for his phone number and we exchanged addresses. The following evening, his surprise appearance in Lycra cycling gear at my all-female student house caused something of a stir.
The INXS song accompanied us on our trip to Germany later that year as my husband-to-be recorded a playlist of our favourite songs, including this one, to remind me of him when we were apart. The train theme also continued as we were placed at opposite ends of the country and had long rail journeys to see each other every two weeks. His first job was with British Rail and at our wedding our best man quipped that I was marrying him not for a green card, but for a railcard.
We celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary this year with a party and a playlist comprising all our favourite songs. INXS's song will always conjure up for me that chance meeting on the platform which was the start of our lives together.
Amanda Barton
*We love to eat*:* Mum's carrots*
*Ingredients *
1lb (450g) carrots peeled or scrubbed and cut into thin batons
2oz (55g) butter
Dash of olive oil
1oz (25g) dark brown sugar
Melt the butter in a large pan over a medium heat adding a dash of olive oil to help prevent it burning. Add the carrots and saute/cook them over a low to medium heat until slightly soft. This will take about 10 minutes. You will need to stir frequently during this time so that the carrots don't stick or burn. Once softened, stir in the sugar so that the carrots are coated. When the sugar has dissolved, leaving the carrots caramelised (which only takes a couple of minutes), turn off the heat.
These make a great accompaniment to a Sunday roast and liven up any basic meat-and-two-veg meal.
Carrots cooked this way have become known as Mum's carrots, although she never actually made them herself – I was the one doing the cooking as dementia gradually took over her life. She loved these carrots, especially with lamb chops, peas and roast potatoes. I think she liked the sweetness and the colour was also an attraction, encouraging her to eat when her appetite started to fade.
Mum died last year and I cooked the carrots for the first time for my older brother when he stayed over to sort out her things, explaining that they had been her favourites towards the end.
A few months later, my nephew said he had cooked Mum's carrots for Sunday lunch at his sister's and for his new girlfriend. I realised that in a way a new tradition had been born and Mum lives on in lots of little ways.
Lucy Mangua
*We'd love to hear your stories
*
We will pay £25 for every Letter to, Playlist, Snapshot or We love to eat we publish. Write to Family Life, The Guardian, Kings Place, 90 York Way, London N1 9GU or email family@theguardian.com. Please include your address and phone number Reported by guardian.co.uk 7 hours ago.
*Snapshot*:* Dad's heroic beach technique*
Changing tents are a somewhat counterproductive invention. Flapping frantically in the sea breeze as wearers totter around trying to put feet into costumes, tents probably attract more attention to bathers on the beach than were they to perform a striptease. In the photograph, my father demonstrates this phenomenon at Embleton Bay in Northumberland, in 1981. The tent is at least (home) made from a discreet maroon fabric and not the earlier towelling garment in a daisy pattern on orange background that was probably better at attracting attention than a high-vis jacket.
My brothers and sister would wolf whistle as the wind blew the tent up his legs. Dad would finally fling it off with a flourish, likening himself to Charles Atlas and striking a muscleman pose. A fine figure of a man – to use his expression. He then jigged off to the surf.
Entering the sea, he ran in as fast as he could for as long as he could. Then he spun round on to his back to immerse himself and kicked like fury, creating as much foam and the highest spray possible. He puffed out his cheeks and whooped and hollered.
Later, Dad watched us while we swam. He paddled about 30 yards away with his trousers rolled up to his knees, reading a book. Wrapped around his neck – like jumpers on a cricket umpire – were our towels. We were soon rolled up in them and blissfully cosy next to Mum at the back of the windbreak.
Dad died in 2007. To me, he will always be that man standing in the sea. Often in the distance, but always there and utterly dependable.
Paul Kirkwood
*Playlist*:* How our marriage got on track*
* *
*Never Tear Us Apart by INXS*
"I was standing / You were there / Two worlds collided / And they can never tear us apart"
One Sunday night in February 1989, I was at Birmingham New Street railway station on my way back to Warwick University after a weekend at my parents' house. It was the usual Sunday chaos – trains cancelled, delays and changes to platforms. As I scanned the timetables, trying to find the next train to Coventry, I was joined by a handsome student also trying to navigate his way through the confusion. We smiled as our eyes met over the same section of timetable; he was on his way back to Coventry University.
When the train finally arrived, it was standing room only and we chatted nonstop throughout the 20-minute journey. I was in my second year of a languages degree, he was a physics undergraduate but, like me, he was due to spend the next academic year on placement in Germany.
In Coventry we set about our farewells. I was overcome by the feeling that this might be the last time we ever met. The thought was so unbearable that I mustered the courage to ask for his phone number and we exchanged addresses. The following evening, his surprise appearance in Lycra cycling gear at my all-female student house caused something of a stir.
The INXS song accompanied us on our trip to Germany later that year as my husband-to-be recorded a playlist of our favourite songs, including this one, to remind me of him when we were apart. The train theme also continued as we were placed at opposite ends of the country and had long rail journeys to see each other every two weeks. His first job was with British Rail and at our wedding our best man quipped that I was marrying him not for a green card, but for a railcard.
We celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary this year with a party and a playlist comprising all our favourite songs. INXS's song will always conjure up for me that chance meeting on the platform which was the start of our lives together.
Amanda Barton
*We love to eat*:* Mum's carrots*
*Ingredients *
1lb (450g) carrots peeled or scrubbed and cut into thin batons
2oz (55g) butter
Dash of olive oil
1oz (25g) dark brown sugar
Melt the butter in a large pan over a medium heat adding a dash of olive oil to help prevent it burning. Add the carrots and saute/cook them over a low to medium heat until slightly soft. This will take about 10 minutes. You will need to stir frequently during this time so that the carrots don't stick or burn. Once softened, stir in the sugar so that the carrots are coated. When the sugar has dissolved, leaving the carrots caramelised (which only takes a couple of minutes), turn off the heat.
These make a great accompaniment to a Sunday roast and liven up any basic meat-and-two-veg meal.
Carrots cooked this way have become known as Mum's carrots, although she never actually made them herself – I was the one doing the cooking as dementia gradually took over her life. She loved these carrots, especially with lamb chops, peas and roast potatoes. I think she liked the sweetness and the colour was also an attraction, encouraging her to eat when her appetite started to fade.
Mum died last year and I cooked the carrots for the first time for my older brother when he stayed over to sort out her things, explaining that they had been her favourites towards the end.
A few months later, my nephew said he had cooked Mum's carrots for Sunday lunch at his sister's and for his new girlfriend. I realised that in a way a new tradition had been born and Mum lives on in lots of little ways.
Lucy Mangua
*We'd love to hear your stories
*
We will pay £25 for every Letter to, Playlist, Snapshot or We love to eat we publish. Write to Family Life, The Guardian, Kings Place, 90 York Way, London N1 9GU or email family@theguardian.com. Please include your address and phone number Reported by guardian.co.uk 7 hours ago.