Now here’s a curious thing: why has everyone I’ve met in the last week divulged a significant ancestor? There’s been the great-great-grandson of Lord Elgin (of the Marbles), the grandson of Edvard Munch (of the Scream), the niece of Vivienne Westwood (of the lack of knickers), the great-granddaughter of Gertrude Jekyll (of Gardens and Hyde). Why even the man to whom I first shared this strange series of coincidences confessed he was related to the scientist who discovers an evolutionary-crucial aquatic fossil.
All I can say about mine is cobblers. From Northamptonshire, you see. And not a glimmer of celebrity among them. I don’t think it is entirely fair. How, given six core strands of dna that describe the entire human race, have I inherited the ones without the slightest whiff of glamour?
Sorry this is a blast from the past - I'm catching up on posts after my hideous hand injury.
Anyhow, I just wanted to say that I'm similarly afflicted. I have been researching my family tree only to discover I'm descended from a long line of really boring people who did little/nothing of interest (apart from fill in forms) for centuries. In fact, I have to go back to the 14th century to find anyone vaguely noteworthy.
Posted by: Kate | Friday, 30 November 2007 at 08:41 PM
But Kate, finding relatives seven centuries old is pretty cool. And at least they're noteworthy!
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Posted by: Carlton | Saturday, 01 December 2007 at 09:58 PM