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!
Friday, October 20, 2006
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."
Saturday, September 30, 2006
The first time you were visited by the toothfairy
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
Do you remember the first time you were visited by the toothfairy?
Ok I thought I'd try to take a trip down memory lane to another fictional time - the time of the toothfairy! I know we've all experienced the fairy population at some time in our past. These tiny, flying people were the ones that wanted our teeth! Did we ask many questions about that at the time? I suspect not as we were more interested in the coin they left us in exchange.
I don't recall much about the toothfairy. I suspected they were related to Santa though as it always seemed to be winter time that I lost my teeth. Not sure if there is any science to this at all - the loss of teeth in winter, not the relationship between Santa and the fairies.
So I wanted to explore this memory further but when I asked around, most people can only recall vague memories of the tooth coming out (they were all baby teeth of course so there was little pain involved), placing it under their pillow and a coin materialising there in the morning.
We did have a laugh though at the value of the coin. Who remembers 10p for a wee tooth and 50p for a bigger tooth? Some, reflecting their age, remember shillings and pence.
So, disappointed that this was perhaps an uneventful memory to post, I was on the point of going back to Santa Claus tales when someone piped up a story about his first experience of "being" the toothfairy for his children.
Three things stuck me when he'd shared his story:
1. Why do the fairies take the teeth and is their a universal answer to that question, which most kids are likely to ask at some point?
2. It really blows my mind that parents are under so much pressure to instinctively know what the going rate for a tooth is on any given year. Does this type of information pass to expecting mothers from the placenta to the brain? There is so much trivia they need to know to deal with inquisitive kids (eg why is the sky blue, why do cows go Moo?) that it seems some kind of madness that we invent fictional characters and themes which will bring on more questions (where do the fairies take the teeth, where does Santa go in the summer?).
3. The final thing that struck me is something I'll share at the end of the story.
Two for me please
"My daughter had two loose teeth at the same time. It was her two front teeth and the proper ones were growing in behind them but these two at the front were just wobbling about and not coming out. So we came up with a plan to encourage them out!
Following a trip to the supermarket I made her eat an apple when we got home. It worked! She bit into it and out came the tooth. Her poor wee face screwed up in pain and she struggled to tell us what had happened. She ran over to her Mum grabbed her hand, then spat the whole mouthful into it! We then had to dutifully poke about the saliva, apple and god knows what else to find the tooth. That was fine though - one down and one to go.
But the other still wasn't budging. That evening I told her to put the extracted tooth under her pillow.
"Why Dad?"
"Well the toothfairy will come and take your tooth away"
"How will the toothfairy get in Dad if the door is closed?"
I said the first thing that came into my head - she doesn't need the door to be open, she comes through the keyhole".
Quick thinking I thought! This is more Rachel's area (his wife). Anyway, the next question came quickly.
"But Dad, why does she want my tooth?".
I must have been on a roll. "She takes it way to fairyland and uses it to build houses for all the other fairies."
That night I had to part with a £2 coin. Rachel tells me it's the going rate for teeth these days but £2!. Well I was down £4 by the end of the week.
The second tooth came out without any engineering by me or my wife. My daughter was playing with her friend in her room. She has a bunk bed. They were on the top bunk playing when Emma decided to get down to get another toy - she slipped on the ladder and bumped her jaw on the rung of the ladder. Out came the tooth and I lost another £2."
---------------------
Ok, the third thing that stuck me was why on earth fairies would take the teeth. I'm sure I would have asked the same question as a nipper, but don't recall the explanation. I mean is it a good thing to suggest that fairies live in houses made of teeth? It must be really smelly. And what happens when the teeth disintegrate? Poor fairies, living in crumbling houses.
Ok, in a bid to keep the fairies in homes, we must do something about the declining population in the UK. Unless of course fairies can travel the globe......
Have agreat weekend!
Do you remember the first time you were visited by the toothfairy?
Ok I thought I'd try to take a trip down memory lane to another fictional time - the time of the toothfairy! I know we've all experienced the fairy population at some time in our past. These tiny, flying people were the ones that wanted our teeth! Did we ask many questions about that at the time? I suspect not as we were more interested in the coin they left us in exchange.
I don't recall much about the toothfairy. I suspected they were related to Santa though as it always seemed to be winter time that I lost my teeth. Not sure if there is any science to this at all - the loss of teeth in winter, not the relationship between Santa and the fairies.
So I wanted to explore this memory further but when I asked around, most people can only recall vague memories of the tooth coming out (they were all baby teeth of course so there was little pain involved), placing it under their pillow and a coin materialising there in the morning.
We did have a laugh though at the value of the coin. Who remembers 10p for a wee tooth and 50p for a bigger tooth? Some, reflecting their age, remember shillings and pence.
So, disappointed that this was perhaps an uneventful memory to post, I was on the point of going back to Santa Claus tales when someone piped up a story about his first experience of "being" the toothfairy for his children.
Three things stuck me when he'd shared his story:
1. Why do the fairies take the teeth and is their a universal answer to that question, which most kids are likely to ask at some point?
2. It really blows my mind that parents are under so much pressure to instinctively know what the going rate for a tooth is on any given year. Does this type of information pass to expecting mothers from the placenta to the brain? There is so much trivia they need to know to deal with inquisitive kids (eg why is the sky blue, why do cows go Moo?) that it seems some kind of madness that we invent fictional characters and themes which will bring on more questions (where do the fairies take the teeth, where does Santa go in the summer?).
3. The final thing that struck me is something I'll share at the end of the story.
Two for me please
"My daughter had two loose teeth at the same time. It was her two front teeth and the proper ones were growing in behind them but these two at the front were just wobbling about and not coming out. So we came up with a plan to encourage them out!
Following a trip to the supermarket I made her eat an apple when we got home. It worked! She bit into it and out came the tooth. Her poor wee face screwed up in pain and she struggled to tell us what had happened. She ran over to her Mum grabbed her hand, then spat the whole mouthful into it! We then had to dutifully poke about the saliva, apple and god knows what else to find the tooth. That was fine though - one down and one to go.
But the other still wasn't budging. That evening I told her to put the extracted tooth under her pillow.
"Why Dad?"
"Well the toothfairy will come and take your tooth away"
"How will the toothfairy get in Dad if the door is closed?"
I said the first thing that came into my head - she doesn't need the door to be open, she comes through the keyhole".
Quick thinking I thought! This is more Rachel's area (his wife). Anyway, the next question came quickly.
"But Dad, why does she want my tooth?".
I must have been on a roll. "She takes it way to fairyland and uses it to build houses for all the other fairies."
That night I had to part with a £2 coin. Rachel tells me it's the going rate for teeth these days but £2!. Well I was down £4 by the end of the week.
The second tooth came out without any engineering by me or my wife. My daughter was playing with her friend in her room. She has a bunk bed. They were on the top bunk playing when Emma decided to get down to get another toy - she slipped on the ladder and bumped her jaw on the rung of the ladder. Out came the tooth and I lost another £2."
---------------------
Ok, the third thing that stuck me was why on earth fairies would take the teeth. I'm sure I would have asked the same question as a nipper, but don't recall the explanation. I mean is it a good thing to suggest that fairies live in houses made of teeth? It must be really smelly. And what happens when the teeth disintegrate? Poor fairies, living in crumbling houses.
Ok, in a bid to keep the fairies in homes, we must do something about the declining population in the UK. Unless of course fairies can travel the globe......
Have agreat weekend!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
First time you tried to ski
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
We’ve been planning our ski trip for next year. It’s become a bit of an annual thing for the past 3 years. We went to France for the last 2 years with a great group of people from Scotland and Ireland. Polmont ski club, if you’re out there – HELLO!
This time we are booking to go to Calgary in March 2007. We’ve chosen Canada because we have some good friends out who moved out there a few years back. It’ll be great to combine visiting them with testing the Canadian snow.
Do any of you skiers out there remember the first time you were put on, or put yourself on, a pair of skis?
I wasn’t as young as some of those wee tots you tend to see in foreign ski schools. Those kids are barely out of nappies and they are better skiers than most of us adults on the slopes. Last year I found myself on a chairlift in Flaine with a French girl of around 5 years old. That age estimate is guesswork as she was all wrapped up like a Michelin Man with so many layers of warm clothes. She only came up to my waist and all I could see of her face was a red and runny nose. Anyway, I had “volunteered” to take her up the chairlift as a favour to the ski school instructors.
Well I thought my French would be up to the standards of a five year old. I mean I can tell you my name and where I live, ask how to get to the Museum and point vaguely at something and say “What’s that then?”. But hey, I was wrong. I couldn’t really understand what she was saying, although I’m pretty sure I recognised a universal skiing language when she sighed and that frozen look of her nose. It’s code for “I’m knackered”, with a hint of “Why did my parents push me into this, I’m not really enjoying it?”. Of course, I could be barking up the wrong tree and she might really have been commenting on my flair for ski fashion and mogul jumping!
When I learned to ski I was in secondary school, around 14 years old. I learned to ski at Glenshee in the Scotland. I recall my poor attire – jogging bottoms and a pair of waterproof trousers. It was combined with a pair of borrowed skis that weren’t much more than two planks of wood with a hint of wax on the underside.
My parents were firm believers of us kids trying something for a while before they invested any hard earned money in the appropriate gear to encourage our pursuits. Looking back as a mature and well adjusted adult, I have to say I agree with their philosophy and its one lesson I’ll take on board if I have a family. However, I might tweak the theory when it comes to imparting this philosophy to my (sometime in the future) children. My memory of that approach was not so good – of course, also with a more mature head on my shoulder now, I do admit that I could be a bit of a brat as a child sometimes. So, the lesson learned there is that I will remember, if I ever have kids, that I was once a kid myself and not to never forget what that was like. Whatever they (my sometime in the future kids) go through, I will have probably gone through it at some point in the past.
So, back to the skiing. I’m on the slopes, well in the car park really, trying to stay on my skis. Oh boy it was hard and I came away frustrated, knackered, bruised and wet. But that’s what drove me to go back the next weekend. I was determined.
I think I doubted the logic and effort of it all when I came to my first attempt on the button (poma) tow. I couldn’t begin to recall how many button tows I missed when trying to pull the blasted thing down between my legs. It’s hard when you’re trying to manage two poles and have gloves on your hands that are probably two sizes too big (because you really do think that bigger gloves make your hands warmer!).
But I eventually made it to the top of the slope – a slope with a gradient so slight that yes I could have walked up it, but the point was to progress to the button tow stage. The sense of achievement! I was glowing with the effort and my sense of pride. Which of course was quickly lost in a “Bridget Jones” style moment of careering down said “slight gradient” (I didn’t say that going down the hill, the gradient was of course much steeper!). It’s amazing how fast two planks of wood can travel.
To top it all, the day I scaled the heady height of my first button tow, I ended the experience pretty quickly by crashing into another beginner, knocking them for six and being the probable cause of said beginner breaking her wrist. It wasn’t my fault that she happened to be standing next to a pile of upright skis and poles which didn’t really make for a soft landing!
We’ve been planning our ski trip for next year. It’s become a bit of an annual thing for the past 3 years. We went to France for the last 2 years with a great group of people from Scotland and Ireland. Polmont ski club, if you’re out there – HELLO!
This time we are booking to go to Calgary in March 2007. We’ve chosen Canada because we have some good friends out who moved out there a few years back. It’ll be great to combine visiting them with testing the Canadian snow.
Do any of you skiers out there remember the first time you were put on, or put yourself on, a pair of skis?
I wasn’t as young as some of those wee tots you tend to see in foreign ski schools. Those kids are barely out of nappies and they are better skiers than most of us adults on the slopes. Last year I found myself on a chairlift in Flaine with a French girl of around 5 years old. That age estimate is guesswork as she was all wrapped up like a Michelin Man with so many layers of warm clothes. She only came up to my waist and all I could see of her face was a red and runny nose. Anyway, I had “volunteered” to take her up the chairlift as a favour to the ski school instructors.
Well I thought my French would be up to the standards of a five year old. I mean I can tell you my name and where I live, ask how to get to the Museum and point vaguely at something and say “What’s that then?”. But hey, I was wrong. I couldn’t really understand what she was saying, although I’m pretty sure I recognised a universal skiing language when she sighed and that frozen look of her nose. It’s code for “I’m knackered”, with a hint of “Why did my parents push me into this, I’m not really enjoying it?”. Of course, I could be barking up the wrong tree and she might really have been commenting on my flair for ski fashion and mogul jumping!
When I learned to ski I was in secondary school, around 14 years old. I learned to ski at Glenshee in the Scotland. I recall my poor attire – jogging bottoms and a pair of waterproof trousers. It was combined with a pair of borrowed skis that weren’t much more than two planks of wood with a hint of wax on the underside.
My parents were firm believers of us kids trying something for a while before they invested any hard earned money in the appropriate gear to encourage our pursuits. Looking back as a mature and well adjusted adult, I have to say I agree with their philosophy and its one lesson I’ll take on board if I have a family. However, I might tweak the theory when it comes to imparting this philosophy to my (sometime in the future) children. My memory of that approach was not so good – of course, also with a more mature head on my shoulder now, I do admit that I could be a bit of a brat as a child sometimes. So, the lesson learned there is that I will remember, if I ever have kids, that I was once a kid myself and not to never forget what that was like. Whatever they (my sometime in the future kids) go through, I will have probably gone through it at some point in the past.
So, back to the skiing. I’m on the slopes, well in the car park really, trying to stay on my skis. Oh boy it was hard and I came away frustrated, knackered, bruised and wet. But that’s what drove me to go back the next weekend. I was determined.
I think I doubted the logic and effort of it all when I came to my first attempt on the button (poma) tow. I couldn’t begin to recall how many button tows I missed when trying to pull the blasted thing down between my legs. It’s hard when you’re trying to manage two poles and have gloves on your hands that are probably two sizes too big (because you really do think that bigger gloves make your hands warmer!).
But I eventually made it to the top of the slope – a slope with a gradient so slight that yes I could have walked up it, but the point was to progress to the button tow stage. The sense of achievement! I was glowing with the effort and my sense of pride. Which of course was quickly lost in a “Bridget Jones” style moment of careering down said “slight gradient” (I didn’t say that going down the hill, the gradient was of course much steeper!). It’s amazing how fast two planks of wood can travel.
To top it all, the day I scaled the heady height of my first button tow, I ended the experience pretty quickly by crashing into another beginner, knocking them for six and being the probable cause of said beginner breaking her wrist. It wasn’t my fault that she happened to be standing next to a pile of upright skis and poles which didn’t really make for a soft landing!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
First time you found out Santa wasn't real
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
First time you found out Santa wasn’t real
He’s a great big cuddly man, with a bushy white beard, makes his own presents, and lives with elves and reindeer. Who wouldn’t want to meet him?! All kids are wide eyed with wonder at a certain age, over Santa Claus. It's funny how we never twigged the little discrepancies or that different kids had different stories, all given by their parents, on the finer questions about Santa – where was Mrs Claus, where does Santa live, how do reindeer fly, where do all the elves go in the summer?
The biggest challenge for a parent I think, is how to explain the numerous “Santa’s” in the shops, on the street, on the TV. Why does such a man let himself be cloned by his helpers and so what does he really look like? Of course, he’d be the Santa in the Coke adverts wouldn’t he!?
It’s a shame he’s not real though isn't it. Should I admit to finding it amusing when I see children, when they get to “that age”, battling with their inner self over the Santa mystery? You can see them so desperately questioning the reality, almost as quickly as trying to reaffirm their belief – they don’t want to miss out on presents but at the same time, they want to fit in with the other kids. It’s a domino affect really that spreads like wildfire through a school or group of friends. As soon as they do believe, the relief for the parents is palpable.
Personally, my brother gave the whole thing away. He's only a year older than me but nevertheless he took great delight in telling me Santa was really Mum and Dad. Of course my world came crashing down at this point - how could he tell such a big lie? I remember waiting up as long as I could that year to catch Santa in the midst of filling my stocking at the bottom of the bed. Of course I fell asleep but it didn't stop my brother going on and on and on until eventually he was told off by my parents. Of course at that point there was no going back and the damage was done.
A friend recalls below a memory of when she told her sister the truth behind the man with the beard....
Hide the TV
“I’m not into the whole fictional character thing because my Dad didn’t believe in it. So in our house a dog was a "dog" and not a "doggie"; a cat was a "cat", and not a "pussy cat" or kitten – that kind of thing. My Dad's point in grounding us in reality was sensible I suppose because really, in a few weeks time that dog would be a dog and not a doggie - it would’ve grown up.
So against that upbringing the whole Santa thing was a chore I guess for my parents. I can’t remember when exactly I found out but I was fairly young. I gave it away for my sister though.
We were talking about Santa and she was all excited about Christmas. It was mid December and all the Christmas decorations were up - both inside and out. She was so wound up in the whole concept and trying to work out when Santa would deliver the presents. She knew at this point that Santa was going to give us a new TV for our room that Christmas. Now that was a big deal back then – they weren’t as cheap as they are now and not given away with every fridge or freezer you buy.
So we were at our Gran's house this one afternoon and my sister is getting really excited - she must have had an overdose of chocolate from the advent calendar! By this point was really irritating me. So, I told her that Santa wasn’t real.
Of course she didn't believe me, couldn't believe me, and she kept arguing back at me. So I told her that if he was real, then why is the TV set that he’s giving us, in Gran’s wardrobe. Of course she still didn’t believe me and so in a fit of frustration, just to prove myself right more than anything else, I showed her the TV!.
She ran back home to Mum and Dad. She asked them if Santa was still giving us a TV and they said yes. “So why’s it in Gran’s wardrobe Mum?” she said. Well, inspite of the upbringing, I still got leathered for telling her the truth!
They didn’t try to cover the whole thing up for my sister though, they did tell her the real deal with Santa. I don’t regret it either. I beleive that kids should know the truth and not be brought up on a fantasy in a bid to bribe them into being "good kids"."
First time you found out Santa wasn’t real
He’s a great big cuddly man, with a bushy white beard, makes his own presents, and lives with elves and reindeer. Who wouldn’t want to meet him?! All kids are wide eyed with wonder at a certain age, over Santa Claus. It's funny how we never twigged the little discrepancies or that different kids had different stories, all given by their parents, on the finer questions about Santa – where was Mrs Claus, where does Santa live, how do reindeer fly, where do all the elves go in the summer?
The biggest challenge for a parent I think, is how to explain the numerous “Santa’s” in the shops, on the street, on the TV. Why does such a man let himself be cloned by his helpers and so what does he really look like? Of course, he’d be the Santa in the Coke adverts wouldn’t he!?
It’s a shame he’s not real though isn't it. Should I admit to finding it amusing when I see children, when they get to “that age”, battling with their inner self over the Santa mystery? You can see them so desperately questioning the reality, almost as quickly as trying to reaffirm their belief – they don’t want to miss out on presents but at the same time, they want to fit in with the other kids. It’s a domino affect really that spreads like wildfire through a school or group of friends. As soon as they do believe, the relief for the parents is palpable.
Personally, my brother gave the whole thing away. He's only a year older than me but nevertheless he took great delight in telling me Santa was really Mum and Dad. Of course my world came crashing down at this point - how could he tell such a big lie? I remember waiting up as long as I could that year to catch Santa in the midst of filling my stocking at the bottom of the bed. Of course I fell asleep but it didn't stop my brother going on and on and on until eventually he was told off by my parents. Of course at that point there was no going back and the damage was done.
A friend recalls below a memory of when she told her sister the truth behind the man with the beard....
Hide the TV
“I’m not into the whole fictional character thing because my Dad didn’t believe in it. So in our house a dog was a "dog" and not a "doggie"; a cat was a "cat", and not a "pussy cat" or kitten – that kind of thing. My Dad's point in grounding us in reality was sensible I suppose because really, in a few weeks time that dog would be a dog and not a doggie - it would’ve grown up.
So against that upbringing the whole Santa thing was a chore I guess for my parents. I can’t remember when exactly I found out but I was fairly young. I gave it away for my sister though.
We were talking about Santa and she was all excited about Christmas. It was mid December and all the Christmas decorations were up - both inside and out. She was so wound up in the whole concept and trying to work out when Santa would deliver the presents. She knew at this point that Santa was going to give us a new TV for our room that Christmas. Now that was a big deal back then – they weren’t as cheap as they are now and not given away with every fridge or freezer you buy.
So we were at our Gran's house this one afternoon and my sister is getting really excited - she must have had an overdose of chocolate from the advent calendar! By this point was really irritating me. So, I told her that Santa wasn’t real.
Of course she didn't believe me, couldn't believe me, and she kept arguing back at me. So I told her that if he was real, then why is the TV set that he’s giving us, in Gran’s wardrobe. Of course she still didn’t believe me and so in a fit of frustration, just to prove myself right more than anything else, I showed her the TV!.
She ran back home to Mum and Dad. She asked them if Santa was still giving us a TV and they said yes. “So why’s it in Gran’s wardrobe Mum?” she said. Well, inspite of the upbringing, I still got leathered for telling her the truth!
They didn’t try to cover the whole thing up for my sister though, they did tell her the real deal with Santa. I don’t regret it either. I beleive that kids should know the truth and not be brought up on a fantasy in a bid to bribe them into being "good kids"."
Friday, September 22, 2006
First time you made your brother or sister cry - 3
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
To read previous "first memories" of making siblings cry click here
Well its the end of a busy week, but thank goodness its a Bank Holiday for me this weekend. No big plans unfortunately as The Ryder Cup is on, but so far the weather has been good so fingers crossed it stays that way.
I'll be catching up with friends for coffees and lunch while David plonks himself in front of the TV.
I had to share this "first" story below from a good friend of ours as it reminded me of a recent occasion when I wanted to throw a plate at someone in a fit of frustration! I'm sure you know the feeling...
The flying 45
"I must have been about ten and my sister a year younger than me. She always did my head in, you know! We fought a lot as kids and on one particular day, she was getting on my nerves so bad that I picked up one of my Dad's records, an old 45', and threw it at her.
I threw it like you'd throw a Frisbee. And what a throw it was - slicing through the air in a perfect arc! Not a throw that's easily repeated, more of a fluke.
As my eyes followed its path across the room, it landed in the wall behind my sister. Lodged itself into the plaster! Just as well she ducked really or it could have been like that James Bond movie - you know the one with the bowler hat man? She started crying and ran into the kitchen and told my Mum.
I was in trouble when my Dad got home I can tell you - it was one of his old Elvis LP's I'd thrown and when we pulled it out, although it was whole, it was all scratched. Dad had to paper up the wall too because it had sliced right through it."
To read previous "first memories" of making siblings cry click here
Well its the end of a busy week, but thank goodness its a Bank Holiday for me this weekend. No big plans unfortunately as The Ryder Cup is on, but so far the weather has been good so fingers crossed it stays that way.
I'll be catching up with friends for coffees and lunch while David plonks himself in front of the TV.
I had to share this "first" story below from a good friend of ours as it reminded me of a recent occasion when I wanted to throw a plate at someone in a fit of frustration! I'm sure you know the feeling...
The flying 45
"I must have been about ten and my sister a year younger than me. She always did my head in, you know! We fought a lot as kids and on one particular day, she was getting on my nerves so bad that I picked up one of my Dad's records, an old 45', and threw it at her.
I threw it like you'd throw a Frisbee. And what a throw it was - slicing through the air in a perfect arc! Not a throw that's easily repeated, more of a fluke.
As my eyes followed its path across the room, it landed in the wall behind my sister. Lodged itself into the plaster! Just as well she ducked really or it could have been like that James Bond movie - you know the one with the bowler hat man? She started crying and ran into the kitchen and told my Mum.
I was in trouble when my Dad got home I can tell you - it was one of his old Elvis LP's I'd thrown and when we pulled it out, although it was whole, it was all scratched. Dad had to paper up the wall too because it had sliced right through it."
Monday, September 18, 2006
Another "first" pet and its sad demise
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
For more "first pets" memories click here and here.
Well what a strange start to the week I've had. Oh, did you have a good weekend by the way. I did, chilling out with some friends over a few glasses of wine does wonders.
Well, its Monday again already and when I got into the office, after most of last week being away on a course, to find that tomorrow is "bring your dog to work day". Yes, you read me correctly, bring your dog to work. It's a "national" day apparently and we've got 11 dogs coming in, with their owners, and a host of related events going on through the day to raise money for charity. Imagine, dog walking for £3 - its supposed to be a calming influence apparently, but I can't help imaging the poor sod who gets the dog that needs a number two. Its dog walking with good old shopping bags at the rady for the dog poo disposal!
Sheer madness!
Anyway, it reminded me that I promised some more stories from the "macho men" and their first pet - the doggy stories. So here's a sad tale from a good friend of ours.....
Ricky
Ricky was our dog. He was an Alsatian and I loved taking him on walks near the beach. He was one of those dogs that loved fetching sticks and we used to wind him up by pretending we’d thrown a stick. Of course the dog would go bounding off after nothing, turn around and go daft with barking. Great way to make a dog dizzy isn’t it!
One afternoon I was walking down by the beach road – it had a high wall on the edge of the pavement, leading down to a steep embankment to the beach itself. It was quite a high wall. Ricky was in the mood for some play and I was chucking a stick for him to fetch. Then I teased him by throwing the imaginary stick. I didn’t think. I just threw my arm out and Ricky leapt up for the “stick”. He jumped straight over the wall and disappeared.
I can still see it, almost as if it’s in slow motion. Dumb dog.
I looked over the wall and he was lying at the bottom of this huge drop. I ran round the path and down onto the beach, crying. Ricky, how could I have done this to Ricky! I was only about twelve and I picked that dumb dog up in my hands and carried him back up to the road, my arms aching with the weight. He was still breathing, but didn’t look too great. I half stumbled, running to the vet’s which luckily wasn’t that far away. But he never made it. I was devastated. I had killed Ricky, our dog, since, since well forever.
For more "first pets" memories click here and here.
Well what a strange start to the week I've had. Oh, did you have a good weekend by the way. I did, chilling out with some friends over a few glasses of wine does wonders.
Well, its Monday again already and when I got into the office, after most of last week being away on a course, to find that tomorrow is "bring your dog to work day". Yes, you read me correctly, bring your dog to work. It's a "national" day apparently and we've got 11 dogs coming in, with their owners, and a host of related events going on through the day to raise money for charity. Imagine, dog walking for £3 - its supposed to be a calming influence apparently, but I can't help imaging the poor sod who gets the dog that needs a number two. Its dog walking with good old shopping bags at the rady for the dog poo disposal!
Sheer madness!
Anyway, it reminded me that I promised some more stories from the "macho men" and their first pet - the doggy stories. So here's a sad tale from a good friend of ours.....
Ricky
Ricky was our dog. He was an Alsatian and I loved taking him on walks near the beach. He was one of those dogs that loved fetching sticks and we used to wind him up by pretending we’d thrown a stick. Of course the dog would go bounding off after nothing, turn around and go daft with barking. Great way to make a dog dizzy isn’t it!
One afternoon I was walking down by the beach road – it had a high wall on the edge of the pavement, leading down to a steep embankment to the beach itself. It was quite a high wall. Ricky was in the mood for some play and I was chucking a stick for him to fetch. Then I teased him by throwing the imaginary stick. I didn’t think. I just threw my arm out and Ricky leapt up for the “stick”. He jumped straight over the wall and disappeared.
I can still see it, almost as if it’s in slow motion. Dumb dog.
I looked over the wall and he was lying at the bottom of this huge drop. I ran round the path and down onto the beach, crying. Ricky, how could I have done this to Ricky! I was only about twelve and I picked that dumb dog up in my hands and carried him back up to the road, my arms aching with the weight. He was still breathing, but didn’t look too great. I half stumbled, running to the vet’s which luckily wasn’t that far away. But he never made it. I was devastated. I had killed Ricky, our dog, since, since well forever.
Friday, September 08, 2006
First time you moved house
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
What a long week its been. I've been away on a course, one of those where you had to stay up half the night doing preparation for the following day. Not so productive I feel when all you want to do is surl up in bed. At least it was a nice venue - somewhere in deepest Warwickshire I think - a big old fashioned castle in its previous days, but unfortunately with a few modern extensions added on (spoiling the look a little).
I find that when I'm away on these things that I miss my own bed. Probably true of most people I'd guess - you wake up in a strange bed with a sore back, wishing you could be at home on the comfort of your own mattress. That good old mattress that you lugged with you from home to home.
A couple of good friends of ours told us recently about when they moved house . It can be a traumatic time – in fact it's listed as one of the top ten life events that cause most stress. Most people can remember this one – whether it’s the aches and pains of packing and moving all your worldly possessions yourself or if the removal men were of the usual standard (gruff, big, and moan a lot!). Did anything get “left behind”, damaged? Did the mattress make it there without being torn or soaked wet with rain? What about the new pace you moved to? What state had it been left in?
One bed or two?
“My girlfriend and I were moving into the flat we’re in now. There was loads of help that day, all relatives and friends helping with the loading and unloading – we didn’t need removal men.
My Mum was getting in the way – she didn’t want to lift heavy things and wasn’t sure where things should go when unpacked. But she did want to help. So my girlfriend suggested she go and make the beds for us.
Now at this point we didn’t have a lot of money and we were sleeping in two single beds pushed together. As soon as my Mum saw this, I bet she was over the moon! We weren’t married yet you see, and it wouldn’t be right for us to be “sharing a bed” yet.
When we went to bed that night, we noticed that she had moved the furniture. When it was put in, the bedside tables were on either side of the “bed”. She’s come in, moved the tables and each bed was separated by a table!
We were too exhausted to move them round again that night and spent our first night, not as Mum would have liked it, both of us in a single bed!”
What a long week its been. I've been away on a course, one of those where you had to stay up half the night doing preparation for the following day. Not so productive I feel when all you want to do is surl up in bed. At least it was a nice venue - somewhere in deepest Warwickshire I think - a big old fashioned castle in its previous days, but unfortunately with a few modern extensions added on (spoiling the look a little).
I find that when I'm away on these things that I miss my own bed. Probably true of most people I'd guess - you wake up in a strange bed with a sore back, wishing you could be at home on the comfort of your own mattress. That good old mattress that you lugged with you from home to home.
A couple of good friends of ours told us recently about when they moved house . It can be a traumatic time – in fact it's listed as one of the top ten life events that cause most stress. Most people can remember this one – whether it’s the aches and pains of packing and moving all your worldly possessions yourself or if the removal men were of the usual standard (gruff, big, and moan a lot!). Did anything get “left behind”, damaged? Did the mattress make it there without being torn or soaked wet with rain? What about the new pace you moved to? What state had it been left in?
One bed or two?
“My girlfriend and I were moving into the flat we’re in now. There was loads of help that day, all relatives and friends helping with the loading and unloading – we didn’t need removal men.
My Mum was getting in the way – she didn’t want to lift heavy things and wasn’t sure where things should go when unpacked. But she did want to help. So my girlfriend suggested she go and make the beds for us.
Now at this point we didn’t have a lot of money and we were sleeping in two single beds pushed together. As soon as my Mum saw this, I bet she was over the moon! We weren’t married yet you see, and it wouldn’t be right for us to be “sharing a bed” yet.
When we went to bed that night, we noticed that she had moved the furniture. When it was put in, the bedside tables were on either side of the “bed”. She’s come in, moved the tables and each bed was separated by a table!
We were too exhausted to move them round again that night and spent our first night, not as Mum would have liked it, both of us in a single bed!”
First time at the cinema
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
Does anyone remember the first time they went to the cinema? I'm just off to see Pirates of the Carribean 2 and it made me think back. I think my Dad might have taken me and my brother to see Superman. That's about all. Well, that and popcorn!
Years later, after I was married, Superman came on the TV one Sunday afternoon. My husband suddenly choked on his custard cream and shouted out "Your Dad looks like Lex Luther!" Ever since then we can't look look at Gene Hackman in the same way.
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
Does anyone remember the first time they went to the cinema? I'm just off to see Pirates of the Carribean 2 and it made me think back. I think my Dad might have taken me and my brother to see Superman. That's about all. Well, that and popcorn!
Years later, after I was married, Superman came on the TV one Sunday afternoon. My husband suddenly choked on his custard cream and shouted out "Your Dad looks like Lex Luther!" Ever since then we can't look look at Gene Hackman in the same way.
Monday, September 04, 2006
First time you made your brother or sister cry - 2
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
To read the previous "first memories" relating to siblings click here
Oh we could be cruel to our siblings. Personally I don't hear from my own brother any more. Been that way for almost 7 years now. The rift is too wide now.
Fore
“I was about five or six I think when I was mucking about with the golf clubs my Dad had in the garage. I remember I had this wooden putter…I liked it because it wasn’t as heavy as the metal ones and the colours of the wood were fascinating.
As I was swinging it about the garden my brother came up from the side. I never saw him, and I would continue to say that’s the truth to this day! I was on the back swing, going for an imaginary ball, when it struck something. I turned round and I’d smacked my brother in the head with the club!. He ran away screaming to Mum and boy, did I get smacked for that one. I don’t think it was really sore for him, because I could see the smile on his face when I got smacked.”
To read the previous "first memories" relating to siblings click here
Oh we could be cruel to our siblings. Personally I don't hear from my own brother any more. Been that way for almost 7 years now. The rift is too wide now.
Fore
“I was about five or six I think when I was mucking about with the golf clubs my Dad had in the garage. I remember I had this wooden putter…I liked it because it wasn’t as heavy as the metal ones and the colours of the wood were fascinating.
As I was swinging it about the garden my brother came up from the side. I never saw him, and I would continue to say that’s the truth to this day! I was on the back swing, going for an imaginary ball, when it struck something. I turned round and I’d smacked my brother in the head with the club!. He ran away screaming to Mum and boy, did I get smacked for that one. I don’t think it was really sore for him, because I could see the smile on his face when I got smacked.”
First time you made your brother or sister cry.
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
We’ve all done it…either more on the giving end or the receiving end when we were young. I am a younger sibling myself, and when we were really young my brother was always getting me in trouble. Sound familiar?
Do you remember what your punishment was? Its severity was always linked to the level of the crying your sibling was making - noise which you had caused with the utmost glee.
Some people I spoke to had no memories of making their sibling cry or themselves being made to cry by their sibling. I think it depends on whether you have one or more siblings, and if they are the same sex as you. Brothers to brothers have a very different relationship to brothers and sisters, and sisters to sisters. Sometimes we are jealous of the relationships our friends have with their siblings when we are much older…. It’s a family thing and how close you are. Anyway…it wasn’t always like that was it…….?
Daft
“I used to come home from a day at nursery school, all eager to learn more. I loved reading when I was growing up and couldn’t get enough books to read. I’d read the same ones over again if I got the chance!
I’d pick up my little sister – she’s four years younger than me – and sit her down on the bed and say “right, read that!”, pointing to one of my story books. She’s be all “tra, la, la, la, ga” type thing. She was only one!
I got all angry and started to shout at her, asking how she could be so thick and stupid. I think I even chucked her off the bed! She started crying and howling and Mum came in and gave me a row.
She did try to explain to me that my sister couldn’t read yet because she was a baby. I just couldn’t believe it. “Why would you have such a stupid child Mum? I’m not stupid after all!”.
I just couldn’t understand that if I could read and write, why couldn’t she? I don’t think I was able to define the time lapse thing in that I had to grow up to learn how to do it, not that it just happened right away and I could always read.”
Bite
“I remember biting my younger brother Graham. He’s three years younger than me and so I’d have been say about seven or eight and he’d be four or five. We used to play toy fighting – messing around just as boys do really. We’d kick, punch, throw each other about – nothing major sore.
I don’t know why I bit him – maybe I was stuck in a body lock and couldn’t get him off me. Anyway, whatever reason I bit him on the arm and he started shouting and bawling on Mum. When she heard what I ‘d done – my brother grassing on me so quickly too – she belted me for it and then put anticeptic on Graham’s arm! I really doubt I broke the flesh but I suppose he was making such a fuss it probably was an act on my Mum’s part to make him feel special.
Me? Well I couldn’t understand what the big deal was; couldn’t work out why we were allowed to kick and punch each other but not to bite!”
We’ve all done it…either more on the giving end or the receiving end when we were young. I am a younger sibling myself, and when we were really young my brother was always getting me in trouble. Sound familiar?
Do you remember what your punishment was? Its severity was always linked to the level of the crying your sibling was making - noise which you had caused with the utmost glee.
Some people I spoke to had no memories of making their sibling cry or themselves being made to cry by their sibling. I think it depends on whether you have one or more siblings, and if they are the same sex as you. Brothers to brothers have a very different relationship to brothers and sisters, and sisters to sisters. Sometimes we are jealous of the relationships our friends have with their siblings when we are much older…. It’s a family thing and how close you are. Anyway…it wasn’t always like that was it…….?
Daft
“I used to come home from a day at nursery school, all eager to learn more. I loved reading when I was growing up and couldn’t get enough books to read. I’d read the same ones over again if I got the chance!
I’d pick up my little sister – she’s four years younger than me – and sit her down on the bed and say “right, read that!”, pointing to one of my story books. She’s be all “tra, la, la, la, ga” type thing. She was only one!
I got all angry and started to shout at her, asking how she could be so thick and stupid. I think I even chucked her off the bed! She started crying and howling and Mum came in and gave me a row.
She did try to explain to me that my sister couldn’t read yet because she was a baby. I just couldn’t believe it. “Why would you have such a stupid child Mum? I’m not stupid after all!”.
I just couldn’t understand that if I could read and write, why couldn’t she? I don’t think I was able to define the time lapse thing in that I had to grow up to learn how to do it, not that it just happened right away and I could always read.”
Bite
“I remember biting my younger brother Graham. He’s three years younger than me and so I’d have been say about seven or eight and he’d be four or five. We used to play toy fighting – messing around just as boys do really. We’d kick, punch, throw each other about – nothing major sore.
I don’t know why I bit him – maybe I was stuck in a body lock and couldn’t get him off me. Anyway, whatever reason I bit him on the arm and he started shouting and bawling on Mum. When she heard what I ‘d done – my brother grassing on me so quickly too – she belted me for it and then put anticeptic on Graham’s arm! I really doubt I broke the flesh but I suppose he was making such a fuss it probably was an act on my Mum’s part to make him feel special.
Me? Well I couldn’t understand what the big deal was; couldn’t work out why we were allowed to kick and punch each other but not to bite!”
Another "first memory" of the Police
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
What a strange weekend it was. After posting my previous entry about my first memory of running into the Police, I encountered them again at the weekend. I was visiting my in-laws, with my husband, and whilst there, they were burgled. We were in the house at the time and didn't hear or see a thing but they got away with a handbag and a laptop. The sheer brass neck of it!
I then heard from David that he saw a celebrity at Gullan golf course. Always excited when I hear of a celebrity being "spotted" I was a bit gutted when it turned out to be Ronnie Corbet!
Over the course of the weekend I collected some more "firsts". I can't tell you how much I enjoy this. Listening to people talk about themselves and their memories of childhood or "firsts" that occured through their adult years. It's a lot of fun and above all most people enjoy sharing their stories.
So here's another first memory of the Police, from a former colleague of mine who was mortified at the memory!
Petrol payment
“Me? I'm a model citizen you know. Never even had a parking ticket! Am I sure? Well, there was this one time, but it was a pure accident really and doesn't count in my book……I was filling my car up with petrol at Safeway's. Its one of those pumps where you have the choice to pay at the pump or at the desk. I had chosen the pump. My mobile went when I was filling up and it turns out to be work. Asking some lengthy question on something or other. I was distracted. I finished the call in my car, still stationary at the petrol station I hasten to add – not driving and using the mobile!. Then drove off back to the office.
The police arrived at the office an hour or so later, asking at the front desk for me. News travels past in that place I can tell you. People knew that the Police were there looking for me.
It turns out, can you believe it, that I'd forgotten to pay the petrol bill, Safeway had taken my car registration and called the Police! I still can't quite believe the Police followed it up – I suppose it's theft legally, but surely there are more important crimes to fight. At some point I'm sure I'd have remember and would have driven back to the petrol station to explain and pay the bill. The Police were OK with me after I explained what had happened and there was no further action – other than the fact that I did return and pay the bill!”
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What a strange weekend it was. After posting my previous entry about my first memory of running into the Police, I encountered them again at the weekend. I was visiting my in-laws, with my husband, and whilst there, they were burgled. We were in the house at the time and didn't hear or see a thing but they got away with a handbag and a laptop. The sheer brass neck of it!
I then heard from David that he saw a celebrity at Gullan golf course. Always excited when I hear of a celebrity being "spotted" I was a bit gutted when it turned out to be Ronnie Corbet!
Over the course of the weekend I collected some more "firsts". I can't tell you how much I enjoy this. Listening to people talk about themselves and their memories of childhood or "firsts" that occured through their adult years. It's a lot of fun and above all most people enjoy sharing their stories.
So here's another first memory of the Police, from a former colleague of mine who was mortified at the memory!
Petrol payment
“Me? I'm a model citizen you know. Never even had a parking ticket! Am I sure? Well, there was this one time, but it was a pure accident really and doesn't count in my book……I was filling my car up with petrol at Safeway's. Its one of those pumps where you have the choice to pay at the pump or at the desk. I had chosen the pump. My mobile went when I was filling up and it turns out to be work. Asking some lengthy question on something or other. I was distracted. I finished the call in my car, still stationary at the petrol station I hasten to add – not driving and using the mobile!. Then drove off back to the office.
The police arrived at the office an hour or so later, asking at the front desk for me. News travels past in that place I can tell you. People knew that the Police were there looking for me.
It turns out, can you believe it, that I'd forgotten to pay the petrol bill, Safeway had taken my car registration and called the Police! I still can't quite believe the Police followed it up – I suppose it's theft legally, but surely there are more important crimes to fight. At some point I'm sure I'd have remember and would have driven back to the petrol station to explain and pay the bill. The Police were OK with me after I explained what had happened and there was no further action – other than the fact that I did return and pay the bill!”
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Friday, September 01, 2006
First incident with the police
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
I thought I'd share my first encounter with the Police before I ask a few friends and colleagues if they have ever had a run in with the law. It would be good to get some input from students I think, I mean do the police still get called out to student parties that have gotten a bit out of control? Maybe I should consider the other angle - do students still have parties that get out of control or are they all sensible and adult now? Maybe its more "in" to have a dinner party? Nah, I don't believe that for a second do you? Will need to do some research amongst the student base in Edinburgh.
You know, I never had an incident with the Police until I was in my mid twenties. I never got pulled over in the car, or had the police round at a student party, nothing like that - does that make me weird or just straight-laced?
Anyway, I was having a house warming party around Easter time a few years ago. David doesn’t like theme parties but I managed to convince him that a theme would be a good idea.
I called it a “Jelly and Smarties” party. I made up whisky, gin and vodka jellies, and had packets of those boxes of smarties around in bowls. I made up sweetie bags for everyone to take away – like those you got at school parties. OK, at this point I will admit that not all the jellies set very well, but we had great fun eating them!
I’d invited people from work as well as our friends. The more the merrier type thing and people were more than welcome to bring their partners if they wanted. So there was a few people that were “partner’s” in the crowd.
About an hour into the party I answered a knock at the door. Standing in front of me was a huge, tall policeman. I was a bit gob-smacked because the party wasn’t even in full swing. "Damn neighbours" went through my head at the time.
The policeman said he was there to raid the place because he had been notified there was drugs in the flat. I was like “drugs? There’s no drugs here!” Oh no, but this was a “jelly and smarties” party according to him, so he wanted to get his hands on the culprits.
I turned scarlet and a bit weak at the knees. Then he caught my eye and started laughing his head off! It was a pure wind-up! He was the husband of one of my work-mates and I didn’t know it (I’d never met him or even knew she was married to a Policeman!). Apparently as soon as he’d seen the invite, he couldn’t resist.
You know, I hadn’t even thought at the time that the theme was controversial. I guess my mind doesn’t work on that wave-length. It turned out that a few people there had wondered about the theme themselves!
I thought I'd share my first encounter with the Police before I ask a few friends and colleagues if they have ever had a run in with the law. It would be good to get some input from students I think, I mean do the police still get called out to student parties that have gotten a bit out of control? Maybe I should consider the other angle - do students still have parties that get out of control or are they all sensible and adult now? Maybe its more "in" to have a dinner party? Nah, I don't believe that for a second do you? Will need to do some research amongst the student base in Edinburgh.
You know, I never had an incident with the Police until I was in my mid twenties. I never got pulled over in the car, or had the police round at a student party, nothing like that - does that make me weird or just straight-laced?
Anyway, I was having a house warming party around Easter time a few years ago. David doesn’t like theme parties but I managed to convince him that a theme would be a good idea.
I called it a “Jelly and Smarties” party. I made up whisky, gin and vodka jellies, and had packets of those boxes of smarties around in bowls. I made up sweetie bags for everyone to take away – like those you got at school parties. OK, at this point I will admit that not all the jellies set very well, but we had great fun eating them!
I’d invited people from work as well as our friends. The more the merrier type thing and people were more than welcome to bring their partners if they wanted. So there was a few people that were “partner’s” in the crowd.
About an hour into the party I answered a knock at the door. Standing in front of me was a huge, tall policeman. I was a bit gob-smacked because the party wasn’t even in full swing. "Damn neighbours" went through my head at the time.
The policeman said he was there to raid the place because he had been notified there was drugs in the flat. I was like “drugs? There’s no drugs here!” Oh no, but this was a “jelly and smarties” party according to him, so he wanted to get his hands on the culprits.
I turned scarlet and a bit weak at the knees. Then he caught my eye and started laughing his head off! It was a pure wind-up! He was the husband of one of my work-mates and I didn’t know it (I’d never met him or even knew she was married to a Policeman!). Apparently as soon as he’d seen the invite, he couldn’t resist.
You know, I hadn’t even thought at the time that the theme was controversial. I guess my mind doesn’t work on that wave-length. It turned out that a few people there had wondered about the theme themselves!
First recurring nightmare - dreams
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
Have you ever wondered what you child/partner/dog/cat is dreaming about when you watch their eyes speed around under their closed eyelids like a ballbearing dinging around a pin-ball machine?
Dreams are funny things aren't they? You can be having a good dream and not want to lose its thread when the alarm clock goes off. Try as you might you can only remember that Brad (or Angelina) was definately "yours" and "all yours", but you can't remember any of the other detail or how it made you feel (I'm guessing here that most of the feelings in this case would be good ones, but if it sounds like your idea of a nightmare, then substitute the above for James Bond, Jennifer Aniston, Edna Everidge - whoever turns you on!).
Speaking of nightmares, I would always have these dreams about being chased. It was a man without a face. I could never see that face no matter how hard I looked. I ‘d wake up in a sweat , my heart hammering.
Does this sound familiar to anyone? The faceless, nameless man in your dreams? Perhaps it wasn't a man that chased you but a monster? What kept you awake at night? What was it that you fretted over, made your heart thump or scared the bejeezus out of you? How did you really feel? Here are some recurring nighmare memories that you might jog your memory.....
The vortex
“I remember when I was one time for some reason I was sleeping in my parents bedroom. I think it must have been when people were staying in the house and I had to sleep on my parent’s floor while someone else took my bed. The curtains were brown and had great big cycadelic orange/yellow swirly things on them. A throw back of the 70’s! At the time there was a programme on the TV with similar colours in it. I used to have nightmares about those curtains where the whole room swirled and I was getting sucked into a vortex with Dr Who. It was scary!”
Glitter
“I used to have a nightmare dream when I was about 8 or 9 years old. I would be in my house and a plane would fly over. Mum would tell me the safest place would be for me to stand in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. When I got under it the arch would release glitter. If the glitter landed on me I’d believe that I would turn down syndrome. I don’t know why. I would run away from the arch and into the garden to get away from the glitter. I was totally scared of standing in the arch. I would dream about this for about a year – oh shit the doorway, I’m down syndrome.”
Freddy
For a long time after I first saw Nightmare of Elm Street I dreamed about Freddy Cruger. It sounds weird saying it, given the whole thing is based around dreams and reality but I tell you, it scared the living day-lights out of me.
It seemed that I'd be having a nice, pleasant dream, when all of a sudden things would creep into picture. I'd generally see a glove first. Then some part of the picture would turn green and red – something wierd though, like the tree trunks or the sky – nothing normal.
Then the sound came into it and as soon as I heard the knived scraping on something, I knew I'd see Freddy.
You know, it wasn't me he was chasing, at least all the time. More often I'd see him from the sidelines, like I'm watching him "playing" with a victim who was no-one I knew (a faceless person). Then he'd kill then in a classic slashy way ala horror movie style.
Still, I felt scared rigid. I'd wake up with a start and be drenched in sweat. Then, you know how you try to turn it off and go back to sleep but when you close your eyes you just see his face and nothing else? That's what it was like. I'd stay awake and rock myself for a while before dozing off.
I think this went on for about six months or so. I never watched anymore of the Elm Street series for about two years. In part, I'll admit, because when my Mum found out I wasn't sleeping well, she banned me from watching or reading horror. I admit, I stopped watching Freddy as I said, but still read Stephen King, Dean Koontz and the like – in fact I still do!"
Have you ever wondered what you child/partner/dog/cat is dreaming about when you watch their eyes speed around under their closed eyelids like a ballbearing dinging around a pin-ball machine?
Dreams are funny things aren't they? You can be having a good dream and not want to lose its thread when the alarm clock goes off. Try as you might you can only remember that Brad (or Angelina) was definately "yours" and "all yours", but you can't remember any of the other detail or how it made you feel (I'm guessing here that most of the feelings in this case would be good ones, but if it sounds like your idea of a nightmare, then substitute the above for James Bond, Jennifer Aniston, Edna Everidge - whoever turns you on!).
Speaking of nightmares, I would always have these dreams about being chased. It was a man without a face. I could never see that face no matter how hard I looked. I ‘d wake up in a sweat , my heart hammering.
Does this sound familiar to anyone? The faceless, nameless man in your dreams? Perhaps it wasn't a man that chased you but a monster? What kept you awake at night? What was it that you fretted over, made your heart thump or scared the bejeezus out of you? How did you really feel? Here are some recurring nighmare memories that you might jog your memory.....
The vortex
“I remember when I was one time for some reason I was sleeping in my parents bedroom. I think it must have been when people were staying in the house and I had to sleep on my parent’s floor while someone else took my bed. The curtains were brown and had great big cycadelic orange/yellow swirly things on them. A throw back of the 70’s! At the time there was a programme on the TV with similar colours in it. I used to have nightmares about those curtains where the whole room swirled and I was getting sucked into a vortex with Dr Who. It was scary!”
Glitter
“I used to have a nightmare dream when I was about 8 or 9 years old. I would be in my house and a plane would fly over. Mum would tell me the safest place would be for me to stand in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. When I got under it the arch would release glitter. If the glitter landed on me I’d believe that I would turn down syndrome. I don’t know why. I would run away from the arch and into the garden to get away from the glitter. I was totally scared of standing in the arch. I would dream about this for about a year – oh shit the doorway, I’m down syndrome.”
Freddy
For a long time after I first saw Nightmare of Elm Street I dreamed about Freddy Cruger. It sounds weird saying it, given the whole thing is based around dreams and reality but I tell you, it scared the living day-lights out of me.
It seemed that I'd be having a nice, pleasant dream, when all of a sudden things would creep into picture. I'd generally see a glove first. Then some part of the picture would turn green and red – something wierd though, like the tree trunks or the sky – nothing normal.
Then the sound came into it and as soon as I heard the knived scraping on something, I knew I'd see Freddy.
You know, it wasn't me he was chasing, at least all the time. More often I'd see him from the sidelines, like I'm watching him "playing" with a victim who was no-one I knew (a faceless person). Then he'd kill then in a classic slashy way ala horror movie style.
Still, I felt scared rigid. I'd wake up with a start and be drenched in sweat. Then, you know how you try to turn it off and go back to sleep but when you close your eyes you just see his face and nothing else? That's what it was like. I'd stay awake and rock myself for a while before dozing off.
I think this went on for about six months or so. I never watched anymore of the Elm Street series for about two years. In part, I'll admit, because when my Mum found out I wasn't sleeping well, she banned me from watching or reading horror. I admit, I stopped watching Freddy as I said, but still read Stephen King, Dean Koontz and the like – in fact I still do!"
Thursday, August 31, 2006
First sex scene on TV that you saw when your parents were in the room.
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
You remember don’t you? You’ve all sat down in front of the TV and whatever the programme is, you can just tell when its building up to a sex scene. You start to squirm maybe, fidgeting in your seat. Maybe your Mum gets up to put the kettle on. Perhaps your Dad starts some inane conversation. Sound familiar? The thing is, I could be describing something that have happened last week – it’s perhaps more awkward when you’re an adult with your parents!
When you’re younger and don’t really care and are more curious, you feel less awkward, but your parents are more twitchy – they might be avoiding the fact you were growing up, or maybe you were really too young to be asking such questions of sex scenes and they wanted to “protect “ you!
There are a few of us out there that are of the age when the opening credits of “Tales of The Unexpected” was a taboo thing – parents seemed to think it was a programme that would have sex in it and so you weren’t allowed to watch it.
I mean, looking at it now, what did that women ever have to do with the stories?
“S..e..x”
“My Gran was looking after me one night and Dynasty came on. Remember, all the shoulder pads and big hair! A particular scene came on and she jumped up in front of the TV and changed the channel. “That’s quite enough of S.E.X I think” I replied, “Gran I have an O Grade in English and can spell sex..I even know what it means”.
Well, did she not take that the wrong way? ”What do you mean you know what it means, what have you been up to?!”. “No Gran, I mean I know what the definition in the dictionary is, not that I have actually done it!!”
“We were watching something on the TV when the trailer came on for The Singing Detective – all I remember is my Mum giving it “Right, time for bed now”! I don’t really remember what the particular scene was.
Prossie
“We were all sitting watching the TV one night and it had some programme on it that had a bit in it where they were discussing prostitutes. I had no idea what one was but needed to ask the question. “Dad, what’s a prostitute?”
I remember me and my sister were sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, where they were sitting. I can still picture myself turning round and gazing upwards into his face as I asked the question.
The response was “bed!”. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with the word. I didn’t think I’d sworn, in fact I would never intentional or otherwise, swear in front of my parents.
My sister had to explain to me what a prostitute was and explain why I’d been sent to bed. I must have been about seven or eight at the time.”
Police Academy
“I was reminded about this recently from a cousin – its something I said back as a child that seems to have stuck in the family and I’ll occasionally get the rip taken out of me!
We were watching Police Academy one night. That must have made me about ten years old or something like that. Me, my Mum, my two older sisters and my cousin. You know what that film’s like – if there was a sex scene it was an obvious wind up thing. I can’t even remember the bit in the film to be honest, but I did feel a bit uncomfortable.
I was wriggling about on the chair and Mum asked me what was wrong. She was dumfounded when I’d replied “I don’t know Mum, but I’ve got a sore front bottom!”
I still get reminded of that phrase by my family and it’s so embarrassing. I can’t believe what I’d said, I obviously didn’t have a clue why it was happening or what it meant!”
You remember don’t you? You’ve all sat down in front of the TV and whatever the programme is, you can just tell when its building up to a sex scene. You start to squirm maybe, fidgeting in your seat. Maybe your Mum gets up to put the kettle on. Perhaps your Dad starts some inane conversation. Sound familiar? The thing is, I could be describing something that have happened last week – it’s perhaps more awkward when you’re an adult with your parents!
When you’re younger and don’t really care and are more curious, you feel less awkward, but your parents are more twitchy – they might be avoiding the fact you were growing up, or maybe you were really too young to be asking such questions of sex scenes and they wanted to “protect “ you!
There are a few of us out there that are of the age when the opening credits of “Tales of The Unexpected” was a taboo thing – parents seemed to think it was a programme that would have sex in it and so you weren’t allowed to watch it.
I mean, looking at it now, what did that women ever have to do with the stories?
“S..e..x”
“My Gran was looking after me one night and Dynasty came on. Remember, all the shoulder pads and big hair! A particular scene came on and she jumped up in front of the TV and changed the channel. “That’s quite enough of S.E.X I think” I replied, “Gran I have an O Grade in English and can spell sex..I even know what it means”.
Well, did she not take that the wrong way? ”What do you mean you know what it means, what have you been up to?!”. “No Gran, I mean I know what the definition in the dictionary is, not that I have actually done it!!”
“We were watching something on the TV when the trailer came on for The Singing Detective – all I remember is my Mum giving it “Right, time for bed now”! I don’t really remember what the particular scene was.
Prossie
“We were all sitting watching the TV one night and it had some programme on it that had a bit in it where they were discussing prostitutes. I had no idea what one was but needed to ask the question. “Dad, what’s a prostitute?”
I remember me and my sister were sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, where they were sitting. I can still picture myself turning round and gazing upwards into his face as I asked the question.
The response was “bed!”. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with the word. I didn’t think I’d sworn, in fact I would never intentional or otherwise, swear in front of my parents.
My sister had to explain to me what a prostitute was and explain why I’d been sent to bed. I must have been about seven or eight at the time.”
Police Academy
“I was reminded about this recently from a cousin – its something I said back as a child that seems to have stuck in the family and I’ll occasionally get the rip taken out of me!
We were watching Police Academy one night. That must have made me about ten years old or something like that. Me, my Mum, my two older sisters and my cousin. You know what that film’s like – if there was a sex scene it was an obvious wind up thing. I can’t even remember the bit in the film to be honest, but I did feel a bit uncomfortable.
I was wriggling about on the chair and Mum asked me what was wrong. She was dumfounded when I’d replied “I don’t know Mum, but I’ve got a sore front bottom!”
I still get reminded of that phrase by my family and it’s so embarrassing. I can’t believe what I’d said, I obviously didn’t have a clue why it was happening or what it meant!”
And hopefully the last time.....tooth/dentist memory
For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
I realised as I was composing my last entry that I have another "tooth/dentist" related memory that is very vivid. I'm sure you have them too. Those memories where you "touch wood" when recalling them, that they won't happen again. They are usually horror stories to those recalling them and you share a degree of empathy when you hear them. Of course, I know I'm guilty of the odd embellishment too when telling this type of story. Are you?
And hopefully the last time......tooth/dentist memory
“I was in sixth year at school and it was winter time. I was running away from someone about to lob a snowball at me, when someone in front of me stuck out their hand to stop me. I skidded right round them and landed flat on my face. I landed on tarmac. I was pulled up and I knew straight away something was wrong in my face. The pain was unbearable.
I’d clean broke my front tooth and the nerve ending was dangling down like rubber thread. I couldn’t help touching it with my tongue – oh.. but the pain.
As soon as people realised, I was taken to the headmaster to get a call into my parents. Some pupils who’d seen it were even looking in the snow for the piece of tooth that had been smashed – never did find it but I reckon I must have swallowed it.
I was taken down to my Dad’s surgery in town – he worked across the road from the dentist. He took me over and sat and waited with me. I remember the dentist wasn’t my normal one and I didn’t feel comfortable. I had a sodding great gap in my face but all I wanted was the pain to stop. He gave me an injection in the gums and sorted out the nerve – my god the needle looked huge! He took out bits of the tooth and filed it down to a tiny piece in the gum.
I ended up walking about without a front tooth for weeks while they made up a false one for me. When I got the temporary one in I used to have a party trick where I’d pop it out and grin away with this metal grey stump hanging down my face! People hated that one! Thankfully I’ve had this one in for over 10 years now without a mishap!”
I realised as I was composing my last entry that I have another "tooth/dentist" related memory that is very vivid. I'm sure you have them too. Those memories where you "touch wood" when recalling them, that they won't happen again. They are usually horror stories to those recalling them and you share a degree of empathy when you hear them. Of course, I know I'm guilty of the odd embellishment too when telling this type of story. Are you?
And hopefully the last time......tooth/dentist memory
“I was in sixth year at school and it was winter time. I was running away from someone about to lob a snowball at me, when someone in front of me stuck out their hand to stop me. I skidded right round them and landed flat on my face. I landed on tarmac. I was pulled up and I knew straight away something was wrong in my face. The pain was unbearable.
I’d clean broke my front tooth and the nerve ending was dangling down like rubber thread. I couldn’t help touching it with my tongue – oh.. but the pain.
As soon as people realised, I was taken to the headmaster to get a call into my parents. Some pupils who’d seen it were even looking in the snow for the piece of tooth that had been smashed – never did find it but I reckon I must have swallowed it.
I was taken down to my Dad’s surgery in town – he worked across the road from the dentist. He took me over and sat and waited with me. I remember the dentist wasn’t my normal one and I didn’t feel comfortable. I had a sodding great gap in my face but all I wanted was the pain to stop. He gave me an injection in the gums and sorted out the nerve – my god the needle looked huge! He took out bits of the tooth and filed it down to a tiny piece in the gum.
I ended up walking about without a front tooth for weeks while they made up a false one for me. When I got the temporary one in I used to have a party trick where I’d pop it out and grin away with this metal grey stump hanging down my face! People hated that one! Thankfully I’ve had this one in for over 10 years now without a mishap!”
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