A settee made me cry

As regular readers of my blog will know, my mum had to go into an elderly people's home 2 years ago. My brothers and I make sure she gets a visit every day. As a consequence of this unfortunate move we had to empty and sell the family home of nearly 60 years. Although none of us had lived there for at least 30 years it almost felt as if we were losing our home.

Actually the emptying was in some ways very pleasant, spending time with my brothers, finding things we'd forgotten about, having a laugh. If I'm honest the farmhouse had lost a lot of its immediate appeal because it's the people who make a home special and they were no longer in situ.

And it's very odd what gets to you. My mum and dad had a very nice settee and chairs, dating from the 1970s and just a little old-fashioned. None of the family wanted them nor did any charity because they didn't have the correct fire prevention labels. Regrettably they had to go in a skip.

We looked at the empty skip, we sized the settee up and decided it would have to go in first. We were quite ebullient. It was a fine autumn day in a beautiful setting. We were achieving our objectives slowly but surely.

A skip full of a life

For one last time I sat on the settee for old time's sake. In that split second I was filled with all the Christmases, all the parties, all the TV watching, all the chats, all the being ill, all of life as seen from that settee. I screwed up my face and had a little cry. A sofa made me well up and cry. A time warp of emotions swept up and over me. My brother  brimmed up too. I got up, we lifted it, we got it stuck in the door, we fell about giggling and we popped that lovely, beautiful 1970s settee in the skip and got on with life. I'd said my goodbyes.

Clubbing at my age?

I am entering a new phase in my life. At my advanced age I am entering the world of clubbing. I am becoming a groupie. I am experiencing the ecstasy of clubland vicariously through my two children. I talk not of late teens but of Rainbows and of Cubs and of other little person's activities.

I've never really been a joiner of clubs and perhaps because of this I have encouraged and given the opportunity to my children to partake in lots of  activities in my stead. However this has opened up a whole new level of commitment for my husband and me in both time and money.

I am full of admiration and awe for the people who run these clubs and put in so much effort. They live and breathe their chosen interest and are enthusiastic enough to want to share that with people. In fleeting moments, which I might add quickly pass, I am almost envious of that single-mindedness and passion for their chosen pastimes.

But I have to confess it's taking a little adjusting on my part. There's the weekly commitment that each Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday morning we need to be some where at a specific time. This may be delving too deeply into my psyche but I do rail against this commitment. I was brought up on a farm and I suspect subconsciously I've had enough of having to be some where at a specific time day in, week out i.e. milking time, hay time, silage time.

There's also the budgeting needed to be able to afford these clubs. Last year I asked my little girl if she wanted to join a dance club. She wasn't hugely enthusiastic but said she'd give it a go. I rang up to find out more. The lady was lovely and then emailed me a list of all the shoes and outfits my daughter would need on top of the membership fee. We never did make it to a class.

Then there is the sweet pressure sometimes exerted by the club leaders for parents to play their part. Can parents help here? Can parents join the committee there? This is absolutely reasonable and I have been known to volunteer for this fund raising event and that committee but it doesn't always follow that even though my child may be interested in an activity, I will be too.

Of course my husband and I are really really happy that our children want to go out into the world and enjoy. I'm just a selfish grumpy old mum who thought her clubbing days were long passed.

Going crackers!

We like to have crackers for Christmas dinner. We never had them when I was little so I like to indulge now I'm a big kid (apologies, Mum). Although I do remember having fabulous proper cardboard shiney hats when we used to visit my Auntie Ivy on Boxing day and my Mum too used to buy little presents, wrap them up and pop them on the table which was exciting.

It's fun to pull and snap your cracker. It's fun hoping you get left with the bit that has all the goodies in. It's fun trying on your paper hat and wondering if it's going to be too big or will it split as soon as you pop it on your head. You can tell a good paper crown when you suddenly realise you still have it on your head at bedtime. You can also tell a guest who is up for some fun when they actually pop the hat on their head without a moment's hesitation. I even like the little corny jokes too. And sometimes the mottoes can be very educational.


But if I get another dice or nail clippers or spinning top or bouncy ball or water pistol or giant paper clip in my cracker this Christmas I will go literally 'crackers'. I'm fed up with that tat and want different crap. To this end I have researched my crackers and have purchased some which hide wind-up penguin toys within. I'm hoping for some cracking penguin races with the assembled jolly merry-makers. I was also tempted by the crackers with luxury chocolates enticingly advertised within. I guess I could also buy the self-assembly crackers and set myself the challenge of purchasing my own miniature tat - perhaps next year.

Any way I now have high hopes for a cracking and interestingly tatty Christmas.