When I was two years old my brother was born. My parents were worried, as parents usually are, that I would be threatened by this addition to our family. They were worried I’d reject him. Hate him even.

Before my brother was a month old I was making him meals using my tiny plastic stove, lovingly press-ganging his little frowny face into my imaginary games. There’s a video of me trying to feed his shriveled baby a plastic apple covered in imaginary tomato sauce.
It goes without saying that I didn’t hate my little brother. I thought he was kind of neat.

My brother’s name is Fin. Which is short for Finbah. Which people regularly have difficulty spelling. He’s two years younger than me. Once we were mistaken for twins three times in two days. This possibly has something to do with the fact that he is really tall. He’s the kind of tall that means he can’t sit in front of people in cinemas without obscuring their view. Plus he’s the kind of chivalrous that means he DOESN’T sit in front of people. His interests include wearing coats, making gifs and cleaning all the pots that I leave all over the kitchen. He is really comfortable to lie on.

Once I gate-crashed an art excursion to Brisbane. Sitting on the lawn outside the Museum of Contemporary Art, Fin and I had some kind of argument and started throwing bottle caps at each other. We looked up to see the assembled art students staring at us. One blinked at Fin and said in a slightly shocked tone-
“Do you two actually…LIKE each other?”
The answer to that question, quite clearly, is yes. beccamarsh notwithstanding, Fin is probably my best friend.

A lot of people don’t get along with their siblings. I’ve never really worked out why that is. For one thing, it’s in your interest to keep siblings on side in case you ever need a kidney. And you never know when you’re going to need a kidney.

We have this running joke that one day people will look at us and say-
“Wow! They’re related  But they’re both so amazingly awesome and talented!”
There is an argument which says I’m genetically obliged to tell you that my brother is crazy talented. I will admit to a small amount of bias, but even accounting for that:  my brother is crazy talented.
My brother has fan-girls on Tumblr.

This year Fin moved in with me. Or rather, we started sharing this house, which was always the intention.  I thought it would take me a while to get used to having someone else around, after living alone for all of last year. But it didn’t really. Fin and I fell into routine. Sometimes we argue about shopping or who’s turn it is to make tea or whether art needs an audience to exist. But mostly he does a fairly good job of counteracting all the cons about living alone. Now there’s someone else to make me tea and deal with invading spiders. There’s someone who’ll call an ambulance if I fall off a chair during dodgy home maintenance. We can yell at TV together.  

Today is my brother’s 19th birthday.
Happy birthday Fin. I got you a blog. You should probably make me tea now.

You can see Fin’s stuff here

Further reading

December – home

I spent the first minutes of 2018 on the beach. I’ve never actually spent New Year