For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
We all remember our first job don't we? I'm guessing that for most it was probably a paper round, like the memory posted below. What was the reason for the job in the first place, can you remember? A new bike, or toy? Our parents encouraged us to earn a bit of our own money and I remember it felt like I would never get enough money for the new bike I was after....
Rave
“My first job was a paper-round. I didn’t particularly enjoy it but I got really good tips at Christmas time. I think it helped that I knew most of the people I delivered to anyway, and so the tips weren’t that bad really.
There was this one occasion there had been a rave in area the night before. I was obviously too young to go to such a thing but there had been a fair bit of chat about it in the area – mainly voices of concern against the whole thing you know? The whole “bad influence”, “drugs” and such like – in those days all adults tied drugs into every event imaginable – even taking a bus into town could mean meeting people selling or pushing drugs. I‘m sure I’m not the only one with that recollection of parents at that time.
So I was walking down the road going to work the day after the Rave and I kept coming across all this rubbish and all sorts on the streets. It ranged from water bottles and crisp packets to odd socks and used condoms. I couldn’t wuite get my head around the sondoms really. Not that I looked closely, but I could tell they’d been used, but why were they in the middel of the road. Not exactly a quiet road either and not so close to the Rave venue. Did someone use it, keep it and then discard it later? Did they mean to take it along with them, in its used state, or did it cling to some clothing? Not sure really if the answer to that is something much more obvious that I haven’t got yet!
Asides from this crap on the street though there was also a hell of a lot of lager too. All these cans and bottles just lying there, all inviting. They were all unopened too!
Of course, being fifteen and not legally of age to drink (ha, ha!) this lager, its just asking me to pick it up and drink it– isn’t it?!
So that’s exactly what I did. I took as much as I could carry back to my house – about a dozen cans all in I think, which I put down to having long, gangly arms and the sheer will of the moment! Then I “stashed” them in the shed so’s my Dad wouldn’t find them.
Then I turned round and went on and did my paper-round. As I was going round the houses I kept hearing people complaining about the mess in the streets, the amount of people and noise there had been, blah, blah, blah. I just kept smiling to myself about the find I’d made. Who really cared about the rest of it – I missed the whole thing, slept like a log and none of it impacted me in any way. I just thought they were a bunch of moaners really!
The next weekend, me and a couple of my friends stayed over at one of their houses, “sans” parents. This was the perfect chance to make the most of the stash from the Rave – no parents to ask questions, raise eyebrows or lay down the rules. So we drank about half of those beers in secret .
Do you know it felt, looking back on it, like such a major thing at the time. The lager being “found”, the secrecy of the drinking, the underage bit, all of it. We felt quite carefree and a bit drunk if I remember. We can only have had about three or four a piece but it was enough. Those were the days eh?”.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Another first memory of hospital
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
Sorry its been a while since I posted a memory. Time has been flying by and I just got caught up. So I hope you are all well and thanks for stopping by again.
Here's another first memory of hospital. It was told to me by a slightly drunken colleague who still has a passion for disliking her doctor of over 30 years ago!
The bubble
“Well I was a wee tiny person and I had a chest infection. I couldn’t breathe properly. Mum panicked, (my dad was still at work) and phoned the doctor. A Dr Foster. I remember because he was the bad person that put me in hospital! I hated him for it, hated him with a passion. I was two and a half.
Apparently an ambulance came out to the house. Gran had been called as my Dad couldn’t get home quick enough. My mum was hysterical – I don’t remember that but my gran told me later. We got the ambulance to hospital which I have vague memories of in terms of noise and flashing lights.
What I do remember well is being put into an oxygen tent – can’t fail to remember that – a big bubble thing all around me. I was jagged in the bottom because I was that hysterical about being put in the bubble. That calmed me down a bit I suppose.
Time seemed to take forever to go by and I would just lie there as there wasn’t much else to do really. I guess that’s why I may have gotten a bit panicky at times.
Dad was good though, he calmed me down. He sat with me for a couple of days but he was obviously still working. So he’d sit with me and wait till I fell asleep, and then go off to work. I woke up and saw he wasn’t there and panicked. I ripped the oxygen tent and got out, got dragged back by four nurses and injected with god knows what - all because my father wasn’t there when I woke up.
I got discharged later that day – they just wanted rid of me cause I caused so much rumpus in the hospital.”
Sorry its been a while since I posted a memory. Time has been flying by and I just got caught up. So I hope you are all well and thanks for stopping by again.
Here's another first memory of hospital. It was told to me by a slightly drunken colleague who still has a passion for disliking her doctor of over 30 years ago!
The bubble
“Well I was a wee tiny person and I had a chest infection. I couldn’t breathe properly. Mum panicked, (my dad was still at work) and phoned the doctor. A Dr Foster. I remember because he was the bad person that put me in hospital! I hated him for it, hated him with a passion. I was two and a half.
Apparently an ambulance came out to the house. Gran had been called as my Dad couldn’t get home quick enough. My mum was hysterical – I don’t remember that but my gran told me later. We got the ambulance to hospital which I have vague memories of in terms of noise and flashing lights.
What I do remember well is being put into an oxygen tent – can’t fail to remember that – a big bubble thing all around me. I was jagged in the bottom because I was that hysterical about being put in the bubble. That calmed me down a bit I suppose.
Time seemed to take forever to go by and I would just lie there as there wasn’t much else to do really. I guess that’s why I may have gotten a bit panicky at times.
Dad was good though, he calmed me down. He sat with me for a couple of days but he was obviously still working. So he’d sit with me and wait till I fell asleep, and then go off to work. I woke up and saw he wasn’t there and panicked. I ripped the oxygen tent and got out, got dragged back by four nurses and injected with god knows what - all because my father wasn’t there when I woke up.
I got discharged later that day – they just wanted rid of me cause I caused so much rumpus in the hospital.”
Friday, January 19, 2007
First time in hospital
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
What about those childhood memories for those of us unfortunate to have had a hospital stay at young age? Hopefully you will have only been in a short time and that it was nothing serious, or perhaps you have been lucky enough not to have spent any time in hospital.
“I recall the children’s ward and the colours being bright. I rememeber the pain in my throat and being made to eat cornflakes after my first night in the ward. Yes, I had my tonsils and adenoids out. The matron was cruel and made me eat cornflakes.”
Does this sound familiar to you? Does it bring back some old emotions? These are the memories that tend to shape the impression of a hospital forever and, whilst we know as adults, that it was in fact just that, a childhood memory, it’s a damn hard one to change when you are confronted with a hospital visit or indeed a further hospital stay, as an adult.
Sinus
“I remember I was getting a sinus operation done when I was young. I still have sinus troubles now, but not nearly as bad as they might be if I hadn’t had this operation and the tubes flushed.
When I came round I had all this packing material up my nose. The agony in my face was terrible. I was all nose! I could even see it when I looked down. The packing was white and stuffed up me, at the end they tied this bow – supposed to be funny?! I don’t think so!
When it all was taken out, I really did think that my brains were being pulled out from my head. The sensation was something I never want to feel again. It still sends a shiver down my spine just talking about it.”
What about those childhood memories for those of us unfortunate to have had a hospital stay at young age? Hopefully you will have only been in a short time and that it was nothing serious, or perhaps you have been lucky enough not to have spent any time in hospital.
“I recall the children’s ward and the colours being bright. I rememeber the pain in my throat and being made to eat cornflakes after my first night in the ward. Yes, I had my tonsils and adenoids out. The matron was cruel and made me eat cornflakes.”
Does this sound familiar to you? Does it bring back some old emotions? These are the memories that tend to shape the impression of a hospital forever and, whilst we know as adults, that it was in fact just that, a childhood memory, it’s a damn hard one to change when you are confronted with a hospital visit or indeed a further hospital stay, as an adult.
Sinus
“I remember I was getting a sinus operation done when I was young. I still have sinus troubles now, but not nearly as bad as they might be if I hadn’t had this operation and the tubes flushed.
When I came round I had all this packing material up my nose. The agony in my face was terrible. I was all nose! I could even see it when I looked down. The packing was white and stuffed up me, at the end they tied this bow – supposed to be funny?! I don’t think so!
When it all was taken out, I really did think that my brains were being pulled out from my head. The sensation was something I never want to feel again. It still sends a shiver down my spine just talking about it.”
Thursday, January 11, 2007
First time you hosted your own party
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
Well that's Christmas over for another year, I hope you all have a great break over the holidays. Personally, we caught one of the usual bugs that go around at that time of year and it floored us. It seems that bugs just wait for us to get ready to go on holiday and just as our bodies start to relish the relaxation that's coming, wham, it hits you.
So, lots of parties cancelled which was a shame. It leads me nicely into the next "first memory" of a friend of mine. Do you remember the first time you hosted your own party? Were you lucky enough have a birthday party when you were young? Perhaps if was your eighteenth and drinking was legal (in the UK anyway) so lots of fun stories and memories came from that? Maybe, like my friend, you were younger?
Its my thirteenth!
“It was the biggest and bestest party I ever had. I was 13 going on 14. The news of it spread like wildfire, people telling other people in town. It was riotous, absolutely riotous. There was hundreds of people there.
My Mum had hired a function room in a club and they cancelled the booking a week before because they couldn’t handle the function. I was devastated thinking it was all off. Fortunately she managed to get another venue for it for the same weekend.
There were about 240 people there. They were snogging, fighting, dancing, sweating, and probably having sex, who knows. You couldn’t see everyone, although there were good few people that I didn’t really know well at all. You know, those above you at school and such like. But I didn’t care, it was my party and I made sure they knew it!
I got lots of presents too. The one I remember most was my first 12 inch record – it was Sheena Easton’s “Nine to Five”.
At this point in the story she sings to me:....
“My man he takes the morning train......and then he takes it back again”.
I thought it was great, I loved that party!”
Well that's Christmas over for another year, I hope you all have a great break over the holidays. Personally, we caught one of the usual bugs that go around at that time of year and it floored us. It seems that bugs just wait for us to get ready to go on holiday and just as our bodies start to relish the relaxation that's coming, wham, it hits you.
So, lots of parties cancelled which was a shame. It leads me nicely into the next "first memory" of a friend of mine. Do you remember the first time you hosted your own party? Were you lucky enough have a birthday party when you were young? Perhaps if was your eighteenth and drinking was legal (in the UK anyway) so lots of fun stories and memories came from that? Maybe, like my friend, you were younger?
Its my thirteenth!
“It was the biggest and bestest party I ever had. I was 13 going on 14. The news of it spread like wildfire, people telling other people in town. It was riotous, absolutely riotous. There was hundreds of people there.
My Mum had hired a function room in a club and they cancelled the booking a week before because they couldn’t handle the function. I was devastated thinking it was all off. Fortunately she managed to get another venue for it for the same weekend.
There were about 240 people there. They were snogging, fighting, dancing, sweating, and probably having sex, who knows. You couldn’t see everyone, although there were good few people that I didn’t really know well at all. You know, those above you at school and such like. But I didn’t care, it was my party and I made sure they knew it!
I got lots of presents too. The one I remember most was my first 12 inch record – it was Sheena Easton’s “Nine to Five”.
At this point in the story she sings to me:....
“My man he takes the morning train......and then he takes it back again”.
I thought it was great, I loved that party!”
Sunday, December 17, 2006
First time you found out Santa wasn't real - another festive memory
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
Has the festive spirit landed wherever you are yet? Are you ready for Christmas? Bought all the presents, got the tree up, made your Christmas pudding?
It's geting colder here and although no sign of snow on the East coast of Scotland, I've got a feeling its coming our way. The temperature is dropping nicely, Jack Frost is flexing his muscles in the morning, and the snow is falling on the hills to the north. I can't remember the last time we had a white Christmas here, but whilst it would be nice, its not a deal breaker is it?
And of course Santa is coming! At least that's what I told my little niece this weekend. She's really excited and is at that age where the whole thing is just one big, happy, red and white mystery. Already her parents have had to explain why there are so many "Santa's" in the town shopping malls, and she's only 3 years old!
Oh I really hope the mystery stays alive for many more years. I don't know these days when the big secret is let out. Are kids about seven or eight? Perhaps younger? When did you find out?
Here's another story about when the truth came out. This friend is from Australia and was truly aminated over her G&T as she remembered....
Keep him in the family
“I found out about Santa from my cousin. We were playing in the yard at his house – playing "tag". I must have been about six and he would be a couple of years older than me. As we were tagging each other he whispered to me that Santa wasn’t real. Of course I didn’t believe him, in fact I don’t think I believed I really heard him. He said it again and I just stopped playing. I looked over at him and told him I didn’t believe him - who else could it be if it wasn't Santa?. When he started tagging me again, he told me it was my Dad and Mum who were Santa.
That was the final straw! It was funny really, I got so panicky. I ran back to my house to tell Mum. I was short of breath and kind of panting out this story about what a liar my cousin was. I have such a clear memory of this its wierd. We were standing int he kitchen and she has such a shocked look on her face – it was just so out of the blue. She told me my cousin was right, that Santa wasn't real.
Can you imagine the look on my face? I was standing there, mouth wide open, jaw almost to the floor!
Now don’t have a go at my Mum. Please. (she's laughing at this point, clearly noting the horror on my face that her Mum could be so matter-of-fact about it all).
She didn’t blow the whole deal there and then. Instead, she told me there was no Santa Claus for people like my cousin! She told me that my cousin was right in a way, in that Santa didn’t visit homes like ours because we were fortunate to have some money in the bank. Because not everyone was as fortunate, he visited children like my cousin! D’you know, put like that, it sounds like its means tested!
I ran back to my cousin’s yard and told him he was right. I didn’t say any more than that because I didn’t want to spoil it for him. I'm a nice cousin aren't I?”
Has the festive spirit landed wherever you are yet? Are you ready for Christmas? Bought all the presents, got the tree up, made your Christmas pudding?
It's geting colder here and although no sign of snow on the East coast of Scotland, I've got a feeling its coming our way. The temperature is dropping nicely, Jack Frost is flexing his muscles in the morning, and the snow is falling on the hills to the north. I can't remember the last time we had a white Christmas here, but whilst it would be nice, its not a deal breaker is it?
And of course Santa is coming! At least that's what I told my little niece this weekend. She's really excited and is at that age where the whole thing is just one big, happy, red and white mystery. Already her parents have had to explain why there are so many "Santa's" in the town shopping malls, and she's only 3 years old!
Oh I really hope the mystery stays alive for many more years. I don't know these days when the big secret is let out. Are kids about seven or eight? Perhaps younger? When did you find out?
Here's another story about when the truth came out. This friend is from Australia and was truly aminated over her G&T as she remembered....
Keep him in the family
“I found out about Santa from my cousin. We were playing in the yard at his house – playing "tag". I must have been about six and he would be a couple of years older than me. As we were tagging each other he whispered to me that Santa wasn’t real. Of course I didn’t believe him, in fact I don’t think I believed I really heard him. He said it again and I just stopped playing. I looked over at him and told him I didn’t believe him - who else could it be if it wasn't Santa?. When he started tagging me again, he told me it was my Dad and Mum who were Santa.
That was the final straw! It was funny really, I got so panicky. I ran back to my house to tell Mum. I was short of breath and kind of panting out this story about what a liar my cousin was. I have such a clear memory of this its wierd. We were standing int he kitchen and she has such a shocked look on her face – it was just so out of the blue. She told me my cousin was right, that Santa wasn't real.
Can you imagine the look on my face? I was standing there, mouth wide open, jaw almost to the floor!
Now don’t have a go at my Mum. Please. (she's laughing at this point, clearly noting the horror on my face that her Mum could be so matter-of-fact about it all).
She didn’t blow the whole deal there and then. Instead, she told me there was no Santa Claus for people like my cousin! She told me that my cousin was right in a way, in that Santa didn’t visit homes like ours because we were fortunate to have some money in the bank. Because not everyone was as fortunate, he visited children like my cousin! D’you know, put like that, it sounds like its means tested!
I ran back to my cousin’s yard and told him he was right. I didn’t say any more than that because I didn’t want to spoil it for him. I'm a nice cousin aren't I?”
Friday, December 08, 2006
And hopefully the last time.....holiday disaster memory
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
This is another spine tingling, "touch wood" story that you really hope never happens to you. So for my friend here, she really hopes this is the last time this happens when she's going on holiday. Somehow I doubt she'll ever let it happen again!
Passport horror
“I was going on holiday to Cyprus with my husband a couple of years ago. We set off for the airport in plenty time and got there around the 2 hour check in.
I was standing at the check in desk when I noticed the look on the girl's face behind the counter. She then leant across to a colleague at the next desk. I couldn't hear what was being said but thought how rude it was for her to do that when she had a customer in front of her. Then a little shiver ran down my spine and I just got this feeling when I she began to speak to me.
"I'm sorry I can't check you in, did you know your passport expired 6 months ago?"
Well, you can imagine my horror.
“What!” I said "you've got to be joking, I have other ID, please let me on the plane!"
Of course, she couldn't do that. She said she could check my husband in and I could then join him in Cyprus on a later flight. I asked when the next flight was. It wasn't until the next day! Just as well my husband said he wouldn't go without me!
We raced over to the administration desk.
"Don't worry" the woman there said, “it happens all the time. You need to get yourself to the passport agency in town and request another passport to be issued. You've got plenty of time."
We jumped the queue for the taxis, screaming "emergency!" It's funny, I had a feeling of pure calm on the taxi ride – Harry meanwhile was panicking – "We'll have to cancel, we'll have to cancel. Why didn't you check your passport?".
The thing is, I never check it. I always believed that when I changed my passport to my married name three years before, that it would automatically change to another ten year passport. So in my view I had plenty of time before it expired.
Harry was sweating, his face was getting more flushed as the clock tick tocked away.
We got to the passport office, which fortunately was open (you never know when these places shut early). I explained the hurry and the man behind the counter got us more frustrated because he was so laid back.
"I can't promise anything” he said, “there are a few people in the office getting passports done today. Go and take your photos anyway".
That done, I filled out the forms and paid something like £45 for the application. I had no cheque book and they didn't take switch – I was cleaned out of British money. How would we pay for the taxi back to the airport?.
The airport staff were great actually. The administration desk phoned us twice to check how we were getting on and advised us that they'd keep the check-in desk open for our return. We eventually got the passport and ran to flag down a cab. Then we had to ask him to stop via a cashline machine so we could pay him!. Back at the airport we had twenty minutes before boarding. We'd made it! Photo looked terrible mind you.”
This is another spine tingling, "touch wood" story that you really hope never happens to you. So for my friend here, she really hopes this is the last time this happens when she's going on holiday. Somehow I doubt she'll ever let it happen again!
Passport horror
“I was going on holiday to Cyprus with my husband a couple of years ago. We set off for the airport in plenty time and got there around the 2 hour check in.
I was standing at the check in desk when I noticed the look on the girl's face behind the counter. She then leant across to a colleague at the next desk. I couldn't hear what was being said but thought how rude it was for her to do that when she had a customer in front of her. Then a little shiver ran down my spine and I just got this feeling when I she began to speak to me.
"I'm sorry I can't check you in, did you know your passport expired 6 months ago?"
Well, you can imagine my horror.
“What!” I said "you've got to be joking, I have other ID, please let me on the plane!"
Of course, she couldn't do that. She said she could check my husband in and I could then join him in Cyprus on a later flight. I asked when the next flight was. It wasn't until the next day! Just as well my husband said he wouldn't go without me!
We raced over to the administration desk.
"Don't worry" the woman there said, “it happens all the time. You need to get yourself to the passport agency in town and request another passport to be issued. You've got plenty of time."
We jumped the queue for the taxis, screaming "emergency!" It's funny, I had a feeling of pure calm on the taxi ride – Harry meanwhile was panicking – "We'll have to cancel, we'll have to cancel. Why didn't you check your passport?".
The thing is, I never check it. I always believed that when I changed my passport to my married name three years before, that it would automatically change to another ten year passport. So in my view I had plenty of time before it expired.
Harry was sweating, his face was getting more flushed as the clock tick tocked away.
We got to the passport office, which fortunately was open (you never know when these places shut early). I explained the hurry and the man behind the counter got us more frustrated because he was so laid back.
"I can't promise anything” he said, “there are a few people in the office getting passports done today. Go and take your photos anyway".
That done, I filled out the forms and paid something like £45 for the application. I had no cheque book and they didn't take switch – I was cleaned out of British money. How would we pay for the taxi back to the airport?.
The airport staff were great actually. The administration desk phoned us twice to check how we were getting on and advised us that they'd keep the check-in desk open for our return. We eventually got the passport and ran to flag down a cab. Then we had to ask him to stop via a cashline machine so we could pay him!. Back at the airport we had twenty minutes before boarding. We'd made it! Photo looked terrible mind you.”
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Please get voting - a bit of fun
Ok a bit of fun! Its been a long week so far and the weather is miserable. What's it like where you are?
I'd like to get an idea of what you, the reader, think of this blog of first memories so far. Specifically, what is your favourite memory from those you've read? Drop me a comment please on which are your favourite and why.
Thanks!
R
I'd like to get an idea of what you, the reader, think of this blog of first memories so far. Specifically, what is your favourite memory from those you've read? Drop me a comment please on which are your favourite and why.
Thanks!
R
Thursday, November 23, 2006
First car accident
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
I was up in Inverness the other weekend. Its such a nice part of Scotland but what a drive - its 3 hours for us from Edinburgh. Fortunately I wasn't driving this time. My Dad was driving three of us up - we were all going to meet the wider family for lunch as it was my Grandpa's 90th birthday. What a truely great man my Grandpa is. He's seen and done such a lot in his 90 years and still has good health.
The weather was awful. Its been raining here for what seems like two weeks straight. This day was no exception and so driving conditions were not too great. On the way back down the road my Dad was obviusly getting a little weary. We stopped for coffee and let him recharge. He refused to let one of us drive. As we approached Perth we had a very minor incident. The car almost went off the road when Dad failed to clearly see a turn off for Dunkeld. The rain was making it more difficult to see anything clearly.
It was nothing alarming of course and I thought no more about it except to recall my first car accident. It was kind of mundane and involved a stationery piller in a multi-story car park. So instead, I thought I'd share the memory of a good friend of mine and her first car accident. This one's a real shocker!
A rush of blood
“Did you know that men are always picking their nose in the car. It seems to me that they don’t even care who sees them doing it either. It’s disgusting!
I was driving along Edinburgh Road going to see a friend one Saturday afternoon. It was my fault really, I wasn’t really looking at the road ahead at full attention – too busy daydreaming about something or other. Anyway I went into the back of the car in front of me.
We’d been stopped at traffic lights, so I wasn’t going that fast – what, about ten miles an hour if that. I got out of the car and went over to the one in front. He hadn’t even moved off the road and the cars were now backing up behind us.
I got such a fright I almost jumped out of my skin! He was slumped over the wheel and there was all this blood. Blood everywhere. All over his shirt, the wheel, the windows….I kept thinking “Oh my God I’ve killed him” , then thinking “don’t be silly, you were going too slow for that”. There was a whole conversation of alarming voices in my head.
I was looking about for help and heard someone say they’d called an ambulance. I think I was in shock at this point. I couldn’t wake him up he was out for the count. I could even move him back, his hand was stuck under his face – probably wouldn’t have been a good idea anyway.
The ambulance arrived and saw to both of us. I was just wrapped up in a blanket to stop the shivers – where had they come from?! I was looking over at the other car when I heard the ambulance man reviving him with salts. The man was fine, just a sore face but they were going to take him to the hospital for a check-up.
But guess what? Absolutely hysterical really. It turns out he’d been picking his nose at the traffic lights! Men!! Don’t they eat or something – I mean if you need a snack in car, take an apple with you! I’d hit the back of his car and his finger was plugged up his nose, fishing away. The force of my car knocking his had rammed his finger right up his nose. His finger was still up there when the ambulance men arrived to check him out! He’d had a massive nose bleed from the combined finger thrust and head butt and had knocked himself out!
Serves him right really, shouldn’t pick your nose in a car anyway.. He could have seen his finger come out the top of his nose if I’d hit him at a faster speed!”
I was up in Inverness the other weekend. Its such a nice part of Scotland but what a drive - its 3 hours for us from Edinburgh. Fortunately I wasn't driving this time. My Dad was driving three of us up - we were all going to meet the wider family for lunch as it was my Grandpa's 90th birthday. What a truely great man my Grandpa is. He's seen and done such a lot in his 90 years and still has good health.
The weather was awful. Its been raining here for what seems like two weeks straight. This day was no exception and so driving conditions were not too great. On the way back down the road my Dad was obviusly getting a little weary. We stopped for coffee and let him recharge. He refused to let one of us drive. As we approached Perth we had a very minor incident. The car almost went off the road when Dad failed to clearly see a turn off for Dunkeld. The rain was making it more difficult to see anything clearly.
It was nothing alarming of course and I thought no more about it except to recall my first car accident. It was kind of mundane and involved a stationery piller in a multi-story car park. So instead, I thought I'd share the memory of a good friend of mine and her first car accident. This one's a real shocker!
A rush of blood
“Did you know that men are always picking their nose in the car. It seems to me that they don’t even care who sees them doing it either. It’s disgusting!
I was driving along Edinburgh Road going to see a friend one Saturday afternoon. It was my fault really, I wasn’t really looking at the road ahead at full attention – too busy daydreaming about something or other. Anyway I went into the back of the car in front of me.
We’d been stopped at traffic lights, so I wasn’t going that fast – what, about ten miles an hour if that. I got out of the car and went over to the one in front. He hadn’t even moved off the road and the cars were now backing up behind us.
I got such a fright I almost jumped out of my skin! He was slumped over the wheel and there was all this blood. Blood everywhere. All over his shirt, the wheel, the windows….I kept thinking “Oh my God I’ve killed him” , then thinking “don’t be silly, you were going too slow for that”. There was a whole conversation of alarming voices in my head.
I was looking about for help and heard someone say they’d called an ambulance. I think I was in shock at this point. I couldn’t wake him up he was out for the count. I could even move him back, his hand was stuck under his face – probably wouldn’t have been a good idea anyway.
The ambulance arrived and saw to both of us. I was just wrapped up in a blanket to stop the shivers – where had they come from?! I was looking over at the other car when I heard the ambulance man reviving him with salts. The man was fine, just a sore face but they were going to take him to the hospital for a check-up.
But guess what? Absolutely hysterical really. It turns out he’d been picking his nose at the traffic lights! Men!! Don’t they eat or something – I mean if you need a snack in car, take an apple with you! I’d hit the back of his car and his finger was plugged up his nose, fishing away. The force of my car knocking his had rammed his finger right up his nose. His finger was still up there when the ambulance men arrived to check him out! He’d had a massive nose bleed from the combined finger thrust and head butt and had knocked himself out!
Serves him right really, shouldn’t pick your nose in a car anyway.. He could have seen his finger come out the top of his nose if I’d hit him at a faster speed!”
Sunday, November 19, 2006
First time on an aeroplane - another memory
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
I heard this lovely story a while back and just had to share it. It's another recollection of the first time being on an aeroplane. As I said in a previous post, I find it amazing how many parents take their their very young kids abroad on holiday now. Times have changed! This is a memory of someone who was 11 at the time - and what a great plane to be on for a first flight - CONCORDE!
Can you hear me…
“My first time on a plane was on Concorde! My Mum was an air stewardess and got us tickets. It was a family trip. I was fascinated by the whole thing with the sound barrier being broken and my Dad took great pleasure in telling me how it all worked..the physics of it all. I was only about eleven and couldn’t get my head round all of this. They ended up teasing me to explain:
” it means that when you talk to me I won’t be able to hear it for a few seconds because we will be flying faster than the sound from your mouth”.
I think they regretted saying that after a while because I kept shouting to my Mum:
"can you hear me yet, can you hear me!"
I heard this lovely story a while back and just had to share it. It's another recollection of the first time being on an aeroplane. As I said in a previous post, I find it amazing how many parents take their their very young kids abroad on holiday now. Times have changed! This is a memory of someone who was 11 at the time - and what a great plane to be on for a first flight - CONCORDE!
Can you hear me…
“My first time on a plane was on Concorde! My Mum was an air stewardess and got us tickets. It was a family trip. I was fascinated by the whole thing with the sound barrier being broken and my Dad took great pleasure in telling me how it all worked..the physics of it all. I was only about eleven and couldn’t get my head round all of this. They ended up teasing me to explain:
” it means that when you talk to me I won’t be able to hear it for a few seconds because we will be flying faster than the sound from your mouth”.
I think they regretted saying that after a while because I kept shouting to my Mum:
"can you hear me yet, can you hear me!"
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
First pet (and how it died) - Budgies
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
For more "first pets" memories click here and here.
How many of us had budgies as a pet do you think? I doubt it was as popular a pet as a hamster - I mean its not something that you'd cuddle or play with much. In fact, I'm not really that sure I'd give a budgie to a child as a pet. All you can do really is watch them in the cage, or inevitably, when the wee devil inside wants to play, let them out to fly about the house.....
Bingo
“Have you ever had your parents try to disguise the fact your pet is dead?” It happened to me when I was little. I had a budgie called “Bingo”. He was yellowish green and lived in his cage in the livingroom. I used to talk to him every day and he’d tweet back to me quite the thing.
When I came home from school one day I was devastated to find Bingo dead at the bottom of his cage.
“Mum, oh Mum, Bingo’s dead!”.
Well I must have caught her at a bad moment – she was in the middle of a phone call to my Gran and I‘d interrupted her:
“Don’t be silly Julie, Bingo died three weeks ago”!
Then I think she realised what she’d said when she saw the look on my face. She came off the phone pronto and looked over at me.
”Julie, Bingo died three weeks ago and we got a replacement for him because your Dad and I knew how upset you’d be. Really, it’s Bingo2 that’s died”.
Well I couldn’t take it. I stomped off to my room and cried, I couldn’t believe them and what they’d done.
I couldn’t get another Budgie after that could I. I was so upset that Bingo 1 would hate me for it.”
For more "first pets" memories click here and here.
How many of us had budgies as a pet do you think? I doubt it was as popular a pet as a hamster - I mean its not something that you'd cuddle or play with much. In fact, I'm not really that sure I'd give a budgie to a child as a pet. All you can do really is watch them in the cage, or inevitably, when the wee devil inside wants to play, let them out to fly about the house.....
Bingo
“Have you ever had your parents try to disguise the fact your pet is dead?” It happened to me when I was little. I had a budgie called “Bingo”. He was yellowish green and lived in his cage in the livingroom. I used to talk to him every day and he’d tweet back to me quite the thing.
When I came home from school one day I was devastated to find Bingo dead at the bottom of his cage.
“Mum, oh Mum, Bingo’s dead!”.
Well I must have caught her at a bad moment – she was in the middle of a phone call to my Gran and I‘d interrupted her:
“Don’t be silly Julie, Bingo died three weeks ago”!
Then I think she realised what she’d said when she saw the look on my face. She came off the phone pronto and looked over at me.
”Julie, Bingo died three weeks ago and we got a replacement for him because your Dad and I knew how upset you’d be. Really, it’s Bingo2 that’s died”.
Well I couldn’t take it. I stomped off to my room and cried, I couldn’t believe them and what they’d done.
I couldn’t get another Budgie after that could I. I was so upset that Bingo 1 would hate me for it.”
Friday, November 10, 2006
Another First Memory of Sleep Walking
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
First time you slept walked
I got some people talking this week about their sleep walking memories. This one is from a brother's perspective. Sleepwalking stories are best recalled by another party that was there to witness the act. After all, the sleep walker will only remember part of the story – usually not the best bits!
Into the night
“I haven’t slept walked to my knowledge but my brother did when we were young and I shared a room with him. I remember that I heard the commotion out in the hall from my Mum and Dad. I woke up properly and noticed that Paul was not in his bed. I got up and opened the door. Dad was in the hall in his pyjamas and my Mum had the front door open and was out in the drive with her dressing gown on. The draft through the door was nippy on my feet. What a thing to remember.
“What’s all the noise about? Where’s Paul?”. “He’s sleep walking” my Dad said. Well, I thought this was great. At that time I never knew people sleep walked really. I couldn’t understand why they were reluctant to wake him up.
Paul had gone for a walk down the drive and was walking down the pavement away from the house. He had on his boxer shorts and a pair of shoes. At least he’d stopped to put on his shoes!! My Mum ran after him and fortunately the cold must have half woken him up because he appeared to stop a little way down the road and turn round. He looked a bit puzzled to see my Mum. She steered him back into the house, by which time he was fully awake.
My Mum and Dad were really worried about him. He’d catch such a cold going out like that. He got over it without scratch and he laughs now when reminded that the house alarm code was changed after that!”
First time you slept walked
I got some people talking this week about their sleep walking memories. This one is from a brother's perspective. Sleepwalking stories are best recalled by another party that was there to witness the act. After all, the sleep walker will only remember part of the story – usually not the best bits!
Into the night
“I haven’t slept walked to my knowledge but my brother did when we were young and I shared a room with him. I remember that I heard the commotion out in the hall from my Mum and Dad. I woke up properly and noticed that Paul was not in his bed. I got up and opened the door. Dad was in the hall in his pyjamas and my Mum had the front door open and was out in the drive with her dressing gown on. The draft through the door was nippy on my feet. What a thing to remember.
“What’s all the noise about? Where’s Paul?”. “He’s sleep walking” my Dad said. Well, I thought this was great. At that time I never knew people sleep walked really. I couldn’t understand why they were reluctant to wake him up.
Paul had gone for a walk down the drive and was walking down the pavement away from the house. He had on his boxer shorts and a pair of shoes. At least he’d stopped to put on his shoes!! My Mum ran after him and fortunately the cold must have half woken him up because he appeared to stop a little way down the road and turn round. He looked a bit puzzled to see my Mum. She steered him back into the house, by which time he was fully awake.
My Mum and Dad were really worried about him. He’d catch such a cold going out like that. He got over it without scratch and he laughs now when reminded that the house alarm code was changed after that!”
Saturday, November 04, 2006
First time you slept walked
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
Are you a sleep walker? Were you one once, when you were young and now you've grown out of it? Do you still sleep walk?
Hiding
“I think I’ve only slept-walked the once. I was quite young – must have been under eight years old. I don’t remember it myself but I was told enough times about it!
To set the scene a bit, I should let you know that my parents house, the one I grew up in, has two sets of stairs, one at either end. They both go to the same level, and it means you can literally run a circuit up one set along the upstairs level and down the second set and along the ground floor – used to be great fun! My parents room was integral to the circuit in that you actually had to go through it to get from one stair to the other.
Anyway, apparently my parents woke up to find me at the other end of the house, wandering along the hall in my pyjamas. To be found there, meant I had gone out of my room, down the stairs, through the living-room, kitchen and dining room, then back up the other set of stairs. I was in the hall outside their bedroom. I have no recollection of it, and they determined I was sleepwalking.
The next night I was put to bed and couldn’t find my pillow. Dad couldn’t find it anywhere and had to give me one from the spare room. We wondered for couple of days where the pillow could have gone! Then, Mum was turning out the laundry basket in the hall outside their room, when it showed up. It turns out when I was sleepwalking, I’d taken all the laundry out of the basket, stuffed my pillow into the bottom, then piled all the laundry back in on top. No wonder we couldn’t find it!”
Are you a sleep walker? Were you one once, when you were young and now you've grown out of it? Do you still sleep walk?
Hiding
“I think I’ve only slept-walked the once. I was quite young – must have been under eight years old. I don’t remember it myself but I was told enough times about it!
To set the scene a bit, I should let you know that my parents house, the one I grew up in, has two sets of stairs, one at either end. They both go to the same level, and it means you can literally run a circuit up one set along the upstairs level and down the second set and along the ground floor – used to be great fun! My parents room was integral to the circuit in that you actually had to go through it to get from one stair to the other.
Anyway, apparently my parents woke up to find me at the other end of the house, wandering along the hall in my pyjamas. To be found there, meant I had gone out of my room, down the stairs, through the living-room, kitchen and dining room, then back up the other set of stairs. I was in the hall outside their bedroom. I have no recollection of it, and they determined I was sleepwalking.
The next night I was put to bed and couldn’t find my pillow. Dad couldn’t find it anywhere and had to give me one from the spare room. We wondered for couple of days where the pillow could have gone! Then, Mum was turning out the laundry basket in the hall outside their room, when it showed up. It turns out when I was sleepwalking, I’d taken all the laundry out of the basket, stuffed my pillow into the bottom, then piled all the laundry back in on top. No wonder we couldn’t find it!”
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Your first love
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
You know that phrase “you never forget your first love”? Well, I believe that there are two different kinds of love that you never forget – the kind that is your first non-sexual love and the kind that is. The first is the one you experience at a very young age – primary school or even younger. The second comes perhaps at secondary school or at any point in life after that.
The reason I make the distinction at this point is that I have found it surprising which “type” of first love that people recall first – the non sexual, very innocent and sweet one, or the latter, which invariably people remember the break up of. Sometimes it's both, depending on how good the memory itself is.
So what about you……….
“I was in primary school, about ten or eleven years old. I arranged to meet her on a Saturday afternoon..the first time I’d had the guts to ask her out. That day, two of my pals came round looking for a game of football. I decided that footie was a better idea and got them to go down to the shops and tell her. I never tried again after that – I doubt I would have had a chance really! Still liked her though….”
White shoes
“His name was Graham and we were in primary seven! I remember I thought he was so cool and cute looking – dark hair, tall, all of that. He took me to the primary seven school disco. I remember I wore a white top and white shoes – special!
He brought me something, you know when he came round to the house with his Mum, who was driving us to he disco. It was flowers or chocolates, I can’t remember which. But I remember thinking, “oh, isn’t that nice, he’s so likes me”.
We went to the disco and had a great time. We danced the last dance and had a kiss. Well, you know, just one of those “long” straight kisses on the lips – more of a two second thing really but longer than a peck on the lips.
We went out together I think for about a month. School broke up for summer and we weren’t together when we went to the big school.”
Dance
“Oh he was a wee dreamboat at the time, the best looking of all the class. See when I’ve met him since (at least fifteen years on), he was soooo ugly. What was I thinking!
I would be ten or so I think. He was cute, with slightly big ears and could run like the wind. I was impressed by that – he as the best runner in the school sports every year and he was my boyfriend!.
We used to go behind the pump shed (a small shed in the grounds of the school that must have been used as a water pump in ancient times!) for a small pack on the cheek. Nothing more than that. It was just the “done thing”.
You know that phrase “you never forget your first love”? Well, I believe that there are two different kinds of love that you never forget – the kind that is your first non-sexual love and the kind that is. The first is the one you experience at a very young age – primary school or even younger. The second comes perhaps at secondary school or at any point in life after that.
The reason I make the distinction at this point is that I have found it surprising which “type” of first love that people recall first – the non sexual, very innocent and sweet one, or the latter, which invariably people remember the break up of. Sometimes it's both, depending on how good the memory itself is.
So what about you……….
“I was in primary school, about ten or eleven years old. I arranged to meet her on a Saturday afternoon..the first time I’d had the guts to ask her out. That day, two of my pals came round looking for a game of football. I decided that footie was a better idea and got them to go down to the shops and tell her. I never tried again after that – I doubt I would have had a chance really! Still liked her though….”
White shoes
“His name was Graham and we were in primary seven! I remember I thought he was so cool and cute looking – dark hair, tall, all of that. He took me to the primary seven school disco. I remember I wore a white top and white shoes – special!
He brought me something, you know when he came round to the house with his Mum, who was driving us to he disco. It was flowers or chocolates, I can’t remember which. But I remember thinking, “oh, isn’t that nice, he’s so likes me”.
We went to the disco and had a great time. We danced the last dance and had a kiss. Well, you know, just one of those “long” straight kisses on the lips – more of a two second thing really but longer than a peck on the lips.
We went out together I think for about a month. School broke up for summer and we weren’t together when we went to the big school.”
Dance
“Oh he was a wee dreamboat at the time, the best looking of all the class. See when I’ve met him since (at least fifteen years on), he was soooo ugly. What was I thinking!
I would be ten or so I think. He was cute, with slightly big ears and could run like the wind. I was impressed by that – he as the best runner in the school sports every year and he was my boyfriend!.
We used to go behind the pump shed (a small shed in the grounds of the school that must have been used as a water pump in ancient times!) for a small pack on the cheek. Nothing more than that. It was just the “done thing”.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
First day at school
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
This is a tough one for me I'll admit. I have no recollection of my first day of school. I've seen a photo of me in my uniform, standing next to my brother (who was a year older than me) on what was supposedly my first day at school, but I have absolutely no memory of the day itself. I can remember other things - the classrooms, the spelling books, the teachers and some good memories of the annual water fight.
I went to primary school in Balbeggie, a small village about five miles out of Perth in Scotland. A country school, it had three classrooms when I was there, all full. Sadly I believe its down to one class and one teacher. I don't think they do the water fight at the end of the summer term any more. It might have been something to do with a pupil standing on a rusty nail in bare feet as I recall....but those were the good old days!!
(a note on the link to Balbeggie above - there is very little out there on the web about Balbeggie - this is a page in a site I found which was created by the Church of all places)
Here is a memory of a friend of mine - she has great recollection of events in her early childhood.
Primary pet
“I remember my first day at Primary school actually. I got away at twelve thirty which I thought was great. I thought that was what it would be like all the time! But no, just a week or so I think.
I had a wee brown rucksack, satchel thing – remember those? They were really soft buckle straps and faded really well. Cool bags those!.
I remember the first teacher too – her name was Miss Mckay. She was lovely. She used to get me to help her pass out the jotters and collect them in, because I could already read and write – that was my Dad’s fault! I was a quick and eager learner! I had learned to read and write when I was three and had gone to school when I was four.
Miss McKay got married when we were in Primary two. I remember we were all asking why she was being wheeled about the corridors and playground in a trolley!"
This is a tough one for me I'll admit. I have no recollection of my first day of school. I've seen a photo of me in my uniform, standing next to my brother (who was a year older than me) on what was supposedly my first day at school, but I have absolutely no memory of the day itself. I can remember other things - the classrooms, the spelling books, the teachers and some good memories of the annual water fight.
I went to primary school in Balbeggie, a small village about five miles out of Perth in Scotland. A country school, it had three classrooms when I was there, all full. Sadly I believe its down to one class and one teacher. I don't think they do the water fight at the end of the summer term any more. It might have been something to do with a pupil standing on a rusty nail in bare feet as I recall....but those were the good old days!!
(a note on the link to Balbeggie above - there is very little out there on the web about Balbeggie - this is a page in a site I found which was created by the Church of all places)
Here is a memory of a friend of mine - she has great recollection of events in her early childhood.
Primary pet
“I remember my first day at Primary school actually. I got away at twelve thirty which I thought was great. I thought that was what it would be like all the time! But no, just a week or so I think.
I had a wee brown rucksack, satchel thing – remember those? They were really soft buckle straps and faded really well. Cool bags those!.
I remember the first teacher too – her name was Miss Mckay. She was lovely. She used to get me to help her pass out the jotters and collect them in, because I could already read and write – that was my Dad’s fault! I was a quick and eager learner! I had learned to read and write when I was three and had gone to school when I was four.
Miss McKay got married when we were in Primary two. I remember we were all asking why she was being wheeled about the corridors and playground in a trolley!"
Friday, October 20, 2006
First pet and how it died - another hamster memory
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
Another hamster related memory for you. It seems that these were popular wee pets for kids, and still are, as this memory comes from a mother and the story of her kids first hamster. Again, another memory which lit up the face of the person telling me it. A combination of remembering the event, the horror and the lesson learned. There was a little laughter too...but only a little!
Kylie
“It only happened a couple of years ago actually. I’d never had pets as a kid and it was only when I had kids of my own that I had a pet to look after.
We got the kids a hamster. Nice furry thing called Kylie. Kylie the hamster!
Kylie turned out to be pregnant. Not something we'd planned for of course. She had five babies in all. Of course the kids wanted to keep them and we felt we couldn’t really say no.
They were tiny things – all "skin" and pink. Kylie looked after them well really, making sure they were warm in their bed and giving them milk. The kids were looking after them too – making sure the bedding was clean and playing with “Mummy”.
I was doing the usual bits of housework, dusting, hoovering, tidying, you know? Anyway, I was in the kids bedroom hoovering when I noticed Kylie’s cage door was open on the floor. The kids had been cleaning her cage out earlier and couldn't have closed the door latch properly.
The babies were still in the cage and so was Kylie. But I looked again when I was picking the cage up to put it on the dresser. One was missing. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I hunted all over, picking up everything on the floor and looking underneath.
I couldn’t find it. When the kids came home we had to explain that one of the babies was missing. They were convinced it was “Jason” but who could tell – they all looked the same. It made it more personal though! It was quite sad and a bit of a mystery.
The kids were a lot more careful after that with the cage door. We still have Frank, Alice, Homer, Marge and “Mum” Kylie.
I should say that we did find Jason. Well my husband Paul did actually. Its not a nice thought and definitely not a nice way to die. He’d gone up the hoover! He was too small to even clog up the hose! We found out when we emptied the hoover bag. Paul had hoovered up a necklace one of the kids had left on the floor after playing dressing up and was fishing in the bag to get it. That’s when he saw him. It must only have been two days later. I really hope he didn’t suffer – if the shock didn’t kill him he would have lost it in amongst all the dust in the bag.
I never did tell the kids. For a while they believed he’d run away into the skirting boards and was living in the walls. The youngest got a bit scared of that though and would have dreams that he’d grow big and fat, with huge teeth that would bite her in her sleep. We had to tell her a white lie after that to stop the dreams – Jason had gone to heaven and the reason we knew that was there was a new star in the sky over our house!
Another hamster related memory for you. It seems that these were popular wee pets for kids, and still are, as this memory comes from a mother and the story of her kids first hamster. Again, another memory which lit up the face of the person telling me it. A combination of remembering the event, the horror and the lesson learned. There was a little laughter too...but only a little!
Kylie
“It only happened a couple of years ago actually. I’d never had pets as a kid and it was only when I had kids of my own that I had a pet to look after.
We got the kids a hamster. Nice furry thing called Kylie. Kylie the hamster!
Kylie turned out to be pregnant. Not something we'd planned for of course. She had five babies in all. Of course the kids wanted to keep them and we felt we couldn’t really say no.
They were tiny things – all "skin" and pink. Kylie looked after them well really, making sure they were warm in their bed and giving them milk. The kids were looking after them too – making sure the bedding was clean and playing with “Mummy”.
I was doing the usual bits of housework, dusting, hoovering, tidying, you know? Anyway, I was in the kids bedroom hoovering when I noticed Kylie’s cage door was open on the floor. The kids had been cleaning her cage out earlier and couldn't have closed the door latch properly.
The babies were still in the cage and so was Kylie. But I looked again when I was picking the cage up to put it on the dresser. One was missing. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I hunted all over, picking up everything on the floor and looking underneath.
I couldn’t find it. When the kids came home we had to explain that one of the babies was missing. They were convinced it was “Jason” but who could tell – they all looked the same. It made it more personal though! It was quite sad and a bit of a mystery.
The kids were a lot more careful after that with the cage door. We still have Frank, Alice, Homer, Marge and “Mum” Kylie.
I should say that we did find Jason. Well my husband Paul did actually. Its not a nice thought and definitely not a nice way to die. He’d gone up the hoover! He was too small to even clog up the hose! We found out when we emptied the hoover bag. Paul had hoovered up a necklace one of the kids had left on the floor after playing dressing up and was fishing in the bag to get it. That’s when he saw him. It must only have been two days later. I really hope he didn’t suffer – if the shock didn’t kill him he would have lost it in amongst all the dust in the bag.
I never did tell the kids. For a while they believed he’d run away into the skirting boards and was living in the walls. The youngest got a bit scared of that though and would have dreams that he’d grow big and fat, with huge teeth that would bite her in her sleep. We had to tell her a white lie after that to stop the dreams – Jason had gone to heaven and the reason we knew that was there was a new star in the sky over our house!
First time you found out the truth about Santa Claus - another first memory
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
For more Santa related memories, click here
Tick tock
Well, its the weekend again at last. Its been a busy week all round but I did get to hear another first memory of Santa Claus and how a younf child tricked his parents into finding out the truth. The lengths we go to...
“Someone must have told me at some point but I wasn’t quite ready to believe it. I remember I wrote to Santa asking for a wind up alarm clock. I know, I know, not the best present in the world for a child, I don’t know what I was thinking. But anyway, I then said to Mum that I’d asked Santa for an electric alarm clock. I was deliberately laying a trap and I don’t deny it. I just wanted to prove it, that Santa wasn't real. But, at the same time I didn't want to. It was so frustrating, as if my world was going to collapse if I found out he wasn't real. Part of you never wants to stop believing (I sound like an advert for Peter Pan!).
Of course, the electric clock was what I got in the end. It was weird, I was chuffed I’d proved Santa wasn’t real by my own experiment but at the same time it was a bad Christmas, because I’d proved it. That was it. Finished. Game over. No more Santa Claus.
In the end I told my sister what I’d done and she told my parents. I suppose it was ok for them – it meant they didn’t have the pretence again next year.”
For more Santa related memories, click here
Tick tock
Well, its the weekend again at last. Its been a busy week all round but I did get to hear another first memory of Santa Claus and how a younf child tricked his parents into finding out the truth. The lengths we go to...
“Someone must have told me at some point but I wasn’t quite ready to believe it. I remember I wrote to Santa asking for a wind up alarm clock. I know, I know, not the best present in the world for a child, I don’t know what I was thinking. But anyway, I then said to Mum that I’d asked Santa for an electric alarm clock. I was deliberately laying a trap and I don’t deny it. I just wanted to prove it, that Santa wasn't real. But, at the same time I didn't want to. It was so frustrating, as if my world was going to collapse if I found out he wasn't real. Part of you never wants to stop believing (I sound like an advert for Peter Pan!).
Of course, the electric clock was what I got in the end. It was weird, I was chuffed I’d proved Santa wasn’t real by my own experiment but at the same time it was a bad Christmas, because I’d proved it. That was it. Finished. Game over. No more Santa Claus.
In the end I told my sister what I’d done and she told my parents. I suppose it was ok for them – it meant they didn’t have the pretence again next year.”
Monday, October 16, 2006
First time you were told about the birds and the bees
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
So Madonna is adopting a baby. Its all over the news and of course everyone has an opinion. Mine? Well personally I can see both sides of the argument, but lean slightly to Madonna's side. She's giving baby David a chance in life and his father has publically stated he thinks this is the best chance for his son, given the poverty in his own country. I understand the arguments the charities have put forward too. Yes, if poverty is part of the child's culture, perhaps the money would be better spent in another way. I'd like to think though that the child's best interests have been considered and I'm sure Madonna will ensure David is well informed about his roots at an appropriate age. Its a hot topic which I'm sure will rage on as long as the press want it to.
So its a tenuous link to my next memory. The "birds and the bees". Anyone remember how they found out about that whole mystery...?
I have to admit I have no recollection of when I was told, who told me or where I was at the time. I like to think I've blocked it out because it was either so scary for me to have heard or that I was just so at ease with it all it wasn't worth remembering.
Is it even called "the birds and the bees" any more? What about "the facts of life" - that sounds worse, not just old fashioned but more scientific. Hell, there are more "facts of life" these days than sex, just ask Professor Stephen Hawking.
I think these memories will be different depending on if you're male or female. Is the expectation that girls find out before boys because they get periods, or do the boys find out first because they are more nosey and chat more about that kind of thing in school? There's probably an element of school ground gossip to it all anyway.
I think this is one memory where the experience will have changed over the generations don’t you? I shiver at the age young kids are being taught about sex these days.
The machine
“I was ten years old. I remember I was on a skiing trip with my parents and sisters. I had gone to the toilets with my Mum and was waiting for her at the sinks when she came out of the cubicle. I asked her there and then:
“Mum what’s a Durex machine for?” (she pronounced it "Durr" like it rhymed with "fur").
“It's pronounced Durex and we’ll talk about it later” (the emphasis on "Dur" like it rhymed with "pure").
Later that night I asked again. She couldn’t really get out of it. She explained to me about the birds and the bees and about contraceptives – she is a nurse and so you’d expect a high standard!. All I remember thinking was why anyone would want to blow up a balloon and fit it on their “bits”!
TV teacher
“It was a taboo thing in my house. I must have been thirteen or fourteen years old when something about sex came on the TV or was being discussed on TV. My Mum had come into the room and said “did you get taught this at school? Do you want me to buy you a book or something?” I think she was quite embarrassed. Maybe I should have asked what the “or something” was, but I never, I just said that yes, I had been taught about it at school and not to worry.”
So Madonna is adopting a baby. Its all over the news and of course everyone has an opinion. Mine? Well personally I can see both sides of the argument, but lean slightly to Madonna's side. She's giving baby David a chance in life and his father has publically stated he thinks this is the best chance for his son, given the poverty in his own country. I understand the arguments the charities have put forward too. Yes, if poverty is part of the child's culture, perhaps the money would be better spent in another way. I'd like to think though that the child's best interests have been considered and I'm sure Madonna will ensure David is well informed about his roots at an appropriate age. Its a hot topic which I'm sure will rage on as long as the press want it to.
So its a tenuous link to my next memory. The "birds and the bees". Anyone remember how they found out about that whole mystery...?
I have to admit I have no recollection of when I was told, who told me or where I was at the time. I like to think I've blocked it out because it was either so scary for me to have heard or that I was just so at ease with it all it wasn't worth remembering.
Is it even called "the birds and the bees" any more? What about "the facts of life" - that sounds worse, not just old fashioned but more scientific. Hell, there are more "facts of life" these days than sex, just ask Professor Stephen Hawking.
I think these memories will be different depending on if you're male or female. Is the expectation that girls find out before boys because they get periods, or do the boys find out first because they are more nosey and chat more about that kind of thing in school? There's probably an element of school ground gossip to it all anyway.
I think this is one memory where the experience will have changed over the generations don’t you? I shiver at the age young kids are being taught about sex these days.
The machine
“I was ten years old. I remember I was on a skiing trip with my parents and sisters. I had gone to the toilets with my Mum and was waiting for her at the sinks when she came out of the cubicle. I asked her there and then:
“Mum what’s a Durex machine for?” (she pronounced it "Durr" like it rhymed with "fur").
“It's pronounced Durex and we’ll talk about it later” (the emphasis on "Dur" like it rhymed with "pure").
Later that night I asked again. She couldn’t really get out of it. She explained to me about the birds and the bees and about contraceptives – she is a nurse and so you’d expect a high standard!. All I remember thinking was why anyone would want to blow up a balloon and fit it on their “bits”!
TV teacher
“It was a taboo thing in my house. I must have been thirteen or fourteen years old when something about sex came on the TV or was being discussed on TV. My Mum had come into the room and said “did you get taught this at school? Do you want me to buy you a book or something?” I think she was quite embarrassed. Maybe I should have asked what the “or something” was, but I never, I just said that yes, I had been taught about it at school and not to worry.”
Saturday, October 14, 2006
First time on an aeroplane
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
My local radio station Forth One (97.3 FM) were discussing aeroplanes the other day. Just the presenters chatting about plane trips and who gets the window seat when you go on holiday. That made me smile. David always takes the window seat when we go on holiday. I've gotten so used to being the one that sits in the middle of a row - stranger on one side, David on the other - that its become second nature now. We even swap tickets if I've been allocated the window seat.
Remember the film "The Wedding Singer"? . Its now a broadway musical by the way. Anyway, there's a scene on the plane where Robbie Hart (Adam Sandler) says he would give up the window seat for Julia (Drew Barrymore), unlike her horrible boyfriend. Well David has given up the window seat for me twice in the last 10 years - unfortunately it was either dark or cloudy so there wasn't much to see anyway. Nice gesture though.
Do you remember the first time you were on an aeroplane? It seems to me that children under three years old are a much more common sight on planes that they used to be. We must have more disposable income and flights have become cheaper since I was a child.
I was really excited about going on a plane for the first time. I think I was about 10 or so. My parents were taking us abroad for the first time on holiday. When we got to the check-in the woman must have been asking about the seat allocation – you know how there is only 3 on each side of the plane? I must have been allocated the seat across the aisle from the rest of my family because I was put in that seat when we boarded. Fair enough, their decision.
Not having been on a plane before and coupled with the excitement I think, my tummy was doing somersaults. I remember was looking over the aisle at my Dad shortly after take off, feeling green, let alone looking green. Then I turned (for what reason I really couldn’t say) to the old lady who was sitting next to me and threw up all over her!
My Mum gave me such a row. I was mortified anyway about what I’d done. I knew I would get a telling off in public too whicch didn't help. When she took me to the toilet to clean me up I got a smack on the bottom too! I remember protesting that I just couldn’t help it, that I had nowhere to go, it just happened so fast. Fell on deaf ears though - I think she was more embarrassed that anything else.
Tell me about your first memory of being on an aeroplane. How excited were you? Where were you going? Were you sick?
My local radio station Forth One (97.3 FM) were discussing aeroplanes the other day. Just the presenters chatting about plane trips and who gets the window seat when you go on holiday. That made me smile. David always takes the window seat when we go on holiday. I've gotten so used to being the one that sits in the middle of a row - stranger on one side, David on the other - that its become second nature now. We even swap tickets if I've been allocated the window seat.
Remember the film "The Wedding Singer"? . Its now a broadway musical by the way. Anyway, there's a scene on the plane where Robbie Hart (Adam Sandler) says he would give up the window seat for Julia (Drew Barrymore), unlike her horrible boyfriend. Well David has given up the window seat for me twice in the last 10 years - unfortunately it was either dark or cloudy so there wasn't much to see anyway. Nice gesture though.
Do you remember the first time you were on an aeroplane? It seems to me that children under three years old are a much more common sight on planes that they used to be. We must have more disposable income and flights have become cheaper since I was a child.
I was really excited about going on a plane for the first time. I think I was about 10 or so. My parents were taking us abroad for the first time on holiday. When we got to the check-in the woman must have been asking about the seat allocation – you know how there is only 3 on each side of the plane? I must have been allocated the seat across the aisle from the rest of my family because I was put in that seat when we boarded. Fair enough, their decision.
Not having been on a plane before and coupled with the excitement I think, my tummy was doing somersaults. I remember was looking over the aisle at my Dad shortly after take off, feeling green, let alone looking green. Then I turned (for what reason I really couldn’t say) to the old lady who was sitting next to me and threw up all over her!
My Mum gave me such a row. I was mortified anyway about what I’d done. I knew I would get a telling off in public too whicch didn't help. When she took me to the toilet to clean me up I got a smack on the bottom too! I remember protesting that I just couldn’t help it, that I had nowhere to go, it just happened so fast. Fell on deaf ears though - I think she was more embarrassed that anything else.
Tell me about your first memory of being on an aeroplane. How excited were you? Where were you going? Were you sick?
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
First time you found out Santa wasn't real - part 2
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
For more Santa related memories, click here
Do you know its now only 11 weeks to Christmas! Not long until the shops have their Christmas lights and decorations up and Coke will bring out their seasonal Santa advert. Just let us get past Guy Fawkes night first please!
I heard some more fond memories of our cuddly friend Santa Claus the other day. Gone on, share with us your first memory of finding out Santa wasn't really real. I'd certainly love to hear some more stories.
Carrot stealer
“That’s easy…my brother gave it away. I don’t remember how old I was or what he said, but I remember that I didn’t believe him! That Christmas I waited and waited, pretending to be asleep and then I heard Santa coming up the stairs. You know, I was so excited I can't describe it really, but my heart must of been practically jumping out of my chest because I remember I was breathing really fast. I was probably on the verge of a panic attic, after all this was the first time I was going to see Santa (or at least that's what I thought).
I crept out into the hall and here was Dad eating the carrot I’d left out for the reindeer!
I said “what are you doing, that’s for Rudolph!"
He said he’d woken up hungry and that Santa would forgive him for eating Rudolph's carrot if he went to the kitchen and got another. I must have given him a fright when I think about it.
Anyway, I had my suspicions, but still didn’t want to believe it. I think it finally sunk in after I went back to school and we talked about what Santa had given us for Christmas. Some of the children knew already so it was probably peer pressure to finally admit he wasn't real.”
He lives on…
“I’m “thirty something” now and Santa still sends my brothers and I presents. Every year we get a letter from Santa asking if we’d been good and could we please provide a list of potential gifts for him to pick from. The list helps him, he says in his letter, because his elves have had a hard year and his memory is getting poorer. It doesn’t help I suppose that Mrs Claus is no longer with us.
It’s a funny quirky traditional we have kept up for years. Santa has moved with the times and now that he has retired from being a GP and left much of the work to the elves and other helpers, he has learned how to use computers and the internet. Our letter from Santa now comes via email! Dad’s great isn’t he! It means I get something from Santa that is useful and is guaranteed to be something I actually want – a sure fire bet for CD’s, books and perfume! “
For more Santa related memories, click here
Do you know its now only 11 weeks to Christmas! Not long until the shops have their Christmas lights and decorations up and Coke will bring out their seasonal Santa advert. Just let us get past Guy Fawkes night first please!
I heard some more fond memories of our cuddly friend Santa Claus the other day. Gone on, share with us your first memory of finding out Santa wasn't really real. I'd certainly love to hear some more stories.
Carrot stealer
“That’s easy…my brother gave it away. I don’t remember how old I was or what he said, but I remember that I didn’t believe him! That Christmas I waited and waited, pretending to be asleep and then I heard Santa coming up the stairs. You know, I was so excited I can't describe it really, but my heart must of been practically jumping out of my chest because I remember I was breathing really fast. I was probably on the verge of a panic attic, after all this was the first time I was going to see Santa (or at least that's what I thought).
I crept out into the hall and here was Dad eating the carrot I’d left out for the reindeer!
I said “what are you doing, that’s for Rudolph!"
He said he’d woken up hungry and that Santa would forgive him for eating Rudolph's carrot if he went to the kitchen and got another. I must have given him a fright when I think about it.
Anyway, I had my suspicions, but still didn’t want to believe it. I think it finally sunk in after I went back to school and we talked about what Santa had given us for Christmas. Some of the children knew already so it was probably peer pressure to finally admit he wasn't real.”
He lives on…
“I’m “thirty something” now and Santa still sends my brothers and I presents. Every year we get a letter from Santa asking if we’d been good and could we please provide a list of potential gifts for him to pick from. The list helps him, he says in his letter, because his elves have had a hard year and his memory is getting poorer. It doesn’t help I suppose that Mrs Claus is no longer with us.
It’s a funny quirky traditional we have kept up for years. Santa has moved with the times and now that he has retired from being a GP and left much of the work to the elves and other helpers, he has learned how to use computers and the internet. Our letter from Santa now comes via email! Dad’s great isn’t he! It means I get something from Santa that is useful and is guaranteed to be something I actually want – a sure fire bet for CD’s, books and perfume! “
Saturday, October 07, 2006
First time you went on holiday without your parents
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
Just back from a week in sunny Barcelona with David. We had a great time. Just wandered around looking at the sites, drinking beers on the street pavements and watching the world go by. It was our 10th wedding anniversary last week so we thought we'd mark this one with an occasion. We even ordered champagne with our meal - a first for us! We've only ever had champagne when someone has given it to us as a gift or a thank-you or has been bought by our parents. Does this mean we've grown up!
Do you remember the first time you went on holiday without your parents? Things never seemed to go wrong when your parents were around to direct you to the right check-in desk and the gate. You always got to the hotel without a hitch and back to the airport in plenty time to catch your flight. Simple. So does the fact you are the one responsible for all of that necessarily mean something will go wrong.....
Take me to "what's it called?"
"I had booked a holiday to Austria for myself and my boyfriend on the internet. Booking separate flights and hotel was much cheaper than going through a brochure. I suppose the only slag is all the bits of paper you then need to print out and keep. I'm still never sure which bits of paper I'll be asked for if referencing something booked over the web, and so I tend to take everything.
We'd arrived at the airport in Austria and headed to the taxi rank. I looked over at Andrew and asked what the name of the hotel was and the street name. "I don't know" he said, "you've got the details". Of course I did, I always take charge of that kind of thing. I opened the hand luggage but oh God, I couldn't find it. No idea where it was. I searched every pocket in the bags and turned up nothing. We didn't even remember the name of the hotel for sure, let alone any reference number! "Shit, what are we going to do?"
Fortunately I had a flash of inspiration. As it was the afternoon, and only a one hour time difference to the UK, we'd call Andrew's Mum. She is one of those internet savvy Mum's. Thank goodness. Not many of my friends parents go near a computer - its all a bit foreign and scary and are quite happy getting on with their lives when the the rest of the world links up over something called "www".
So we rang her, asked her to go onto such and such a website. We were even able to describe the search and the bitmap picture of the hotel. Then we had to hang up and give her twenty minutes before calling back. Meanwhile we had a nailbiting wait over a beer.
I kept thinking we'd end up having to book another hotel and lose the money on the first one - an expensive option I admit, but on the bright side, I kept saying to myself, we'd have a hotel room at least. We wouldn't have to go homeless or get a flight home. That was how I kept putting it over to Andrew, who was still in utter disbelief and kept mumbling, "I can't believe this is happening" . Is this something all men are programmed to say in these types of situations? Those rare times when they feel helpless in a situation that was caused by a women. They just don't go into practical mode like us women do they?
But thank goodness Andrew's Mum found the details on the web. We had the name of the hotel at least. So we got a taxi there, a bit frazzled, and they let us check in, even without the reference number. What a nice bunch in that hotel.
Inevitably I did find the paperwork after we got back - not in the house as you might have thought, but in the suitcase front pocket! We had it all along, that whole time! Why I had put it there when the case was in the hold of the plane and could have been stolen, I don't know. All I can say in my defence is that it must have felt sensible at the time!
I learned something from that trip and others since. I think my memory is getting worse as I get older, so I now try to stop myself packing for a holiday a week before we go - it's hard I admit, but it means I have less time to pack the important things like money, cards and passports in "safe" places for too long that my memory fails me when I try to remember where they are."
Just back from a week in sunny Barcelona with David. We had a great time. Just wandered around looking at the sites, drinking beers on the street pavements and watching the world go by. It was our 10th wedding anniversary last week so we thought we'd mark this one with an occasion. We even ordered champagne with our meal - a first for us! We've only ever had champagne when someone has given it to us as a gift or a thank-you or has been bought by our parents. Does this mean we've grown up!
Do you remember the first time you went on holiday without your parents? Things never seemed to go wrong when your parents were around to direct you to the right check-in desk and the gate. You always got to the hotel without a hitch and back to the airport in plenty time to catch your flight. Simple. So does the fact you are the one responsible for all of that necessarily mean something will go wrong.....
Take me to "what's it called?"
"I had booked a holiday to Austria for myself and my boyfriend on the internet. Booking separate flights and hotel was much cheaper than going through a brochure. I suppose the only slag is all the bits of paper you then need to print out and keep. I'm still never sure which bits of paper I'll be asked for if referencing something booked over the web, and so I tend to take everything.
We'd arrived at the airport in Austria and headed to the taxi rank. I looked over at Andrew and asked what the name of the hotel was and the street name. "I don't know" he said, "you've got the details". Of course I did, I always take charge of that kind of thing. I opened the hand luggage but oh God, I couldn't find it. No idea where it was. I searched every pocket in the bags and turned up nothing. We didn't even remember the name of the hotel for sure, let alone any reference number! "Shit, what are we going to do?"
Fortunately I had a flash of inspiration. As it was the afternoon, and only a one hour time difference to the UK, we'd call Andrew's Mum. She is one of those internet savvy Mum's. Thank goodness. Not many of my friends parents go near a computer - its all a bit foreign and scary and are quite happy getting on with their lives when the the rest of the world links up over something called "www".
So we rang her, asked her to go onto such and such a website. We were even able to describe the search and the bitmap picture of the hotel. Then we had to hang up and give her twenty minutes before calling back. Meanwhile we had a nailbiting wait over a beer.
I kept thinking we'd end up having to book another hotel and lose the money on the first one - an expensive option I admit, but on the bright side, I kept saying to myself, we'd have a hotel room at least. We wouldn't have to go homeless or get a flight home. That was how I kept putting it over to Andrew, who was still in utter disbelief and kept mumbling, "I can't believe this is happening" . Is this something all men are programmed to say in these types of situations? Those rare times when they feel helpless in a situation that was caused by a women. They just don't go into practical mode like us women do they?
But thank goodness Andrew's Mum found the details on the web. We had the name of the hotel at least. So we got a taxi there, a bit frazzled, and they let us check in, even without the reference number. What a nice bunch in that hotel.
Inevitably I did find the paperwork after we got back - not in the house as you might have thought, but in the suitcase front pocket! We had it all along, that whole time! Why I had put it there when the case was in the hold of the plane and could have been stolen, I don't know. All I can say in my defence is that it must have felt sensible at the time!
I learned something from that trip and others since. I think my memory is getting worse as I get older, so I now try to stop myself packing for a holiday a week before we go - it's hard I admit, but it means I have less time to pack the important things like money, cards and passports in "safe" places for too long that my memory fails me when I try to remember where they are."
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