We visited my Gran this weekend.  When I went into the room that we were staying in, there were three dolls propped up against the fireplace, carefully wrapped in clear plastic.  I recognised them straight away – Tiny, Susan and Mandy.  My old dolls.  Gran had kept them because she thought someone else might want them some day.  Presumably she’s given up on that idea.  So I’m taking them back off her hands.

It feels really strange to hold them.  The feel of them is so familiar, as is the smell of their hair and the faint clicking noise as they blink their plastic eyelids.  With them was a bag full of their clothes, most made by my Mum.  They are really lovely.  Buried under the clothes was another old doll – one of those Sindy-type stick-thin dolls.  I don’t feel as attached to her as I do the other three.

I’ve decided to draw them, and started by using children’s drawing materials – crayon and felt tip.  The dolls actually look much nicer than this; the drawings look rather sinister.