My dear old mother, Yolanda Leigh, was a model throughout the 1970′s. The mad feminist that she was, it’s slightly ironic that she earned her money flaunting herself on the cover of cheap fashion magazines.
My mother in some fashion shot during her stint in Paris, looking like a potential dominatrix (1978)
Dad in his London flat, reading England's oldest weekly magazine for women (late 70's)
Yolanda worked for a number of years in the UK, where she met my dear old father, Fletcher Milton – a British concert promoter and blatant homosexual. Fletcher’s boyfriend, Sean, had to move back home to Australia, but Fletcher could not obtain a visa to stay in the country for any prolonged period. My mother, being the kind, rebel-minded sheila that she was, suggested they marry, so that he could gain Australian residency. In return, she wanted him to give her the daughter she always wanted.
Nine long months she waited for her shining beacon of female joy to spring forth from her womb. She painted her unborn baby’s room in lucious, epicene tones, and bought mountains of beautiful blonde dolls and big, pink bears for the forthcoming child, never once entertaining the idea of the 0.5 chance that she may not actually have a girl. And then disaster struck. On the 5th May, 1985, a smaller, slimier, less disillusioned version of myself entered into a world of utter disappointment. My mother was so distraught, that in a fit of vengence she scribbled the name ‘Eve’ on my birth certificate – now I am forever the first woman created by God. And I don’t like fruit.
![and_god_created_woman_PDVD_000criterion_[1]](http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3070/2697026284_06be8c0ca5_t.jpg "and_god_created_woman_PDVD_000criterion_[1]")
