Childhood Holiday Memories

The third week of August saw my family pack up our suitcases and catch a train to our annual holiday destination. I remember counting down the days until we went away, excitedly asking how many sleeps we had to go.  We would always go holiday clothes shopping before the big day and I loved picking out new outfits and making my holiday packing checklist. Hastings, Barry Island, Bournemouth or Phwelli were places that I remember going to as a child back in the 70's.  We stayed at holiday camps and Butlin's was a favourite choice, where we'd stay in a chalet instead of in a caravan.  It felt very posh to have our own bathroom and not have to use the communal toilet and shower block!

My fondest childhood holiday memories include riding fun fair dodgems with my dad, playing the penny falls in the arcades, shivering in the chilly outdoor pools, doing the Wiggle Wiggle Whoops at the family disco (although I was too shy to actually make it onto the dance floor), getting autographs of Red Coats after the shows, buying souvenirs from my travels to add to my collection and spending days at the beach exploring the rock pools and caves. Rock-pooling was without a doubt my favourite holiday activity.  I could spend hours exploring the rocks and finding shell fish, crabs, jelly fish and little fishes that had been trapped in the pools as the tide went out.  My dad was always very brave and would pick up the big crabs to scare us!  I had a real love of nature and wildlife when I was a child, and loved seeing the creatures in their natural habitat.

Maybe it is because of this childhood love of animals that my most vivid and memorable childhood holiday memory continues to endure. There were signs hung on every lamppost in Hastings advertising an exhibition that was coming to town called 'Jonah's Whale', offering paying guests the chance to see a real whale!  I was so excited at the prospect of seeing one of nature's biggest creatures and asked to go. I had seen the Blue Whale at the Natural History Museum and was mesmerised by its sheer size and majesty. To see a whale in the flesh would be a dream come true and beat anything we could have found in a rock pool! (These were the days before we were fully aware of animal welfare remember!) My parents agreed and on the day of the show we paid our entrance fee to see the whale. Unfortunately my image of a big, healthy, happy whale swimming in a giant tank of water was a million miles away from the reality.  We went into a car park where there was an articulated lorry parked up with a very large, very dead whale laid unceremoniously on the trailer. It was covered in some sort of tar-like substance to help preserve it, blackening its skin and was a really sorry sight. Someone was clearly cashing in on finding a washed up whale, displaying its corpse to holidaymakers for cash before it decomposed. Funnily enough, no one else in my family remembers this event.  My parents probably wrote it off as a rip off and just forgot about it.  But it's something I have never, ever forgotten.

Holidays were an opportunity to get away as a family and to experience new things together in new and exciting places.  Life was a lot more simple then, but some things never change.  As a parent, nothing beats spending quality time with my children, seeing and doing new things and making memories that will last a lifetime.

Competition sponsored by Butlins Holiday Parks, helping your family make memories.

High School Reunions - Would You Go?

I was a pupil at the Herschel High School in Slough from 1981 to 1987. Here I am in my school uniform after coming home from school. I'm wearing my ski jacket that was bought for me to go on a school ski-ing trip to Foppolo  in Italy.  My PE kit is in my Chelsea Girl carrier bag.  I'm wearing a badge that probably showed my support for saving whales or banning the ban or something equally right-on!

At 11, I was a tall, skinny girl who was pretty awkward, quite shy and lacking in self-confidence. I made some very close friends at school who I stuck with throughout my time there. We weren't the cool kids, but we had a good time together.  I mostly enjoyed being at school but I did have some dark times.

It was always assumed that I would be successful and go on to great things. I was very clever, but never driven or motivated.  I never went to university and I'm sure I would be a great disappointment to my teachers if they knew I went on to basically become a stay at home mum and never have a career.  I never reached my potential academically.  I have five A'Levels that have never been used for the greater good!

Not many of the popular girls had much time for me. I wasn't really like them with their pretty hair and make-up.  I liked different music. I wore different clothes. I got A's in all my subjects. I didn't fancy the popular boys.  I wore black nail varnish before it was cool.  I didn't go out to the same places as them.  I never really encountered any hostility, I just rarely crossed paths with the in-crowd. 

I met Ian at Herschel.  He was one of my best friends.  I always got on better with the boys than the girls. We had a lot of laughs at lunch and break hanging out with the lads.  I have some good memories.  I ended up going out with Ian in the 5th Year and ultimately married him some ten years later. (The biggest bonus from my time at Herschel!)

During my final year of the sixth form, I was living with my then-boyfriend and working until 2 am in a bar near Heathrow Airport to pay the rent. I was juggling A'Level revision with pouring pints for American businessmen. I decided not to go to university and stayed with my boyfriend instead.  I got pregnant, he cheated on me, we split up. It was messy.  I moved away from Slough when I had my son Joe. Being a single, teen mum was all-consuming, mentally and physically.  In the years before mobile phones or the internet, staying in touch with school friends was not easy, so I lost touch with almost everyone. (Thankfully not Ian, who remained in my life forever paving the way to us getting together in 1993 and getting married in 1997.)

I've only managed to properly stay in touch with a few of my school friends from this time and don't see them anywhere near enough as I would like to. Other friendships fizzled out as I was pre-occupied first with boyfriends and then with babies. I don't think I was very easy to get along with at times.  I didn't invest very much of myself when it came to friendships.

I rediscovered a lot of fellow pupils on Friends Reunited a few years back and caught up with those I was interested in. It was nice to find some old friends but most of the enthusiastic early communications dwindled away as we ran out of things to say to each other.

Facebook opened up windows into the lives of many more familiar names. I have followed the lives of a few of them via status updates and photo albums and it's nice to know what people have been doing over the years.  I was devastated when one of my closest friends at school died a few years ago.  We were in contact over the internet but he was someone I would have loved to see again and catch up with properly - but that can never happen now.

Now there is the opportunity of attending a School Reunion in the hall of my old school in October.  I always thought I'd love to attend a reunion, but now the chance has arisen I am filled with doubt.  School was 30 odd years ago.  Will I even recognise half the people there?  Will they recognise me?  Will they even care that I am there?  The insecurities of 11 year old me creep back into my psyche. Will I be seen as being old and grey and a bit overweight, or will they still see my teenage self inside?   I think my teachers will see me as a disappointment, an under achiever.

I have struggled on and off with mental health issues for years.  They were at their worst when I was a teenager when I spiralled into a really dark place.  It is only in the last few years that I have put this all completely behind me and come out of the fog that kept on threatening to engulf me. But I know that my stability is fragile.  I don't know if going back to my childhood home town will bring back memories of feeling negative and insecure.  Will I feel like I've failed, even though I know in my heart that I have achieved the most amazing thing in the world: being a mother to my wonderful children.

Or am I just over thinking a simple event that would reunite me with a few old friends and give me the opportunity to have a nosey at a few more?  I am scared that some of the people I held in the very highest esteem may disappoint me, or I'll disappoint them, or we won't even have anything to say to each other.  I see groups of the once popular kids on the reunion thread on Facebook already planning a night out after the event, reminiscing about old times that I was never a part of.  I feel like the girl who never made it into the inner circle of popularity again...although I never really desired it.  It's safer existing in your own little bubble. I just don't want it to burst and throw me back into the insecurities of when I was a teenager. I'm just not sure that I want to come face to face with 'old me' ever again.

The Magic Of Christmas

Still in their pyjamas the children donned their Santa hats.  Christmas music was playing and everyone was singing along.  Dad had been up in the loft bringing down the boxes of decorations.  Each bauble, Christmas toy or homemade Christmas card from years gone by that had been carefully packed away, brought back a host of wonderful memories.  A nativity scene from my childhood, the children's "My First Christmas" baubles and a candle that my sister gave to me back in 1992, three years before she passed away, made my emotions run high.

Giving the kids free reign to create the kind of Christmas that they want to celebrate, really fills my heart with festive joy.  Watching them together, lifting Freddy to hang his baubles on the highest branches of the tree and talking excitedly about all of the family activities that we plan to do is simply heartwarming.  Feeling the love and the connection between my children at this time of year, to me, is the magic of Christmas.

This is my entry for the #O2GuruMagicofXmas Linky, sponsored by O2 GuruTV – the home of tech help and inspiration.

Great Garden Moments

I've never been much of a gardener, although this is not from want of trying.  My lack of green fingers is an affliction that has marred my ability to transform my little green patch of earth into a colourful sea of vibrant blooms or provide a kitchen garden bursting with an abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables.  Consequently my garden is little more than a square of lawn...dotted with dandelions and daisies.  But it is much loved!

Our only produce is the tubs of herbs and pots of vegetables planted by me and my children, and a thriving strawberry plant given to me for Mother's Day two years ago.  When new leaves or flowers appear in our graden they are met with wonder as we marvel at nature's ability to bring beauty to the world. We never take our green space for granted.   My garden may not be amazingly landscaped or like an allotment, but it is however a haven to my children who play in it tirelessly.  It is an outdoor space that is full of fun and laughter. This is why it is so precious to me.

Abandoned toys are strewn across the patio.  Scooters, bikes and balls each represent a memory of my children at play.  The sagging springs of our trampoline show the joy of a million bounces. Each  mark on the swingset and slide represent the wear and tear caused by an imaginary adventure involving pirates,castles and monsters.  My patio table and chairs may not be pristine, but their weathered appearance bears testament to the amount of evenings we have sat outside together as a family.  I can almost smell the coals of much enjoyed barbecues and hear the peels of laughter as we have giggled at the antics of one of the children.

The divots in the lawn that become waterlogged in the rain are exciting muddy puddles to be jumped in with welly clad feet.  Spiders' webs and creepy crawlies are the subjects of many a safari expedition.  Pots of mud  have replaced many of my attempts at seed planting.  The over watered compost, stirred with a stick may not be hospitable to seedlings, but in the mind of my kids they are cauldrons of thrilling ingredients ready to weave their magic spells.  Makeshift boats sail in my water butt.  Chalk drawn masterpieces adorn my creosoted fence panels.

My Great Garden Memories

This is why I love my garden.  These are my great garden memories which will endure long after any flower beds would have drooped and died.  My children are the brightest blooms in my garden and my family's laughter is the most perfect harvest we can reap!

My Childhood Christmas Memories

This post is not going to be a sugar coated version of events.  No rose coloured glasses are involved in my recollection of events.  It's an accurate portrayal, an exposee if you will, of our family Christmas experience in the 70's!

Our home was a small two bedroomed semi in Slough.  Given that there were five of us (mum, dad and three daughters), it immediately posed a problem.  The solution was that my parents made the front room of the house their bedroom.  This left one small backroom as our sole living/dining area.  At Christmas this really presented a challenge. Space was extremely limited and my parents' style was sadly the antithesis of minimalistic.  With the extra demands of the festive season, coupled with the whole family together in that one room, the result was an atmosphere akin to claustrophobia!

Our green tinsel style tree was put up and took its pride of place on top of our old Radio Rental TV set.  The decorations would be hung by our Dad, who was quite protective of his job, with us three girls fighting over who'd bagsy which wise man and where they'd be hung on the tree.  This would inevitably result in me crying, a common theme to my childhood with sisters aged 5 and 10 years older than me, who'd tire of their attention seeking younger sister!  My Dad would keep the plastic gifts from the previous year's crackers and put them onto the foil boughs.  Plastic moustaches and false teeth adorned the branches, and woe betide us if we dared touch them!  If and when we did touch the tree, tempted by the lure of the fake red lips, the tree would topple off the TV, spilling its booty into the exposed vents.  How there was not an electrical mishap, I do not know!

When it came to the big day, we'd be up early and race downstairs to a pile of presents positioned on our pre-allocated sofa seat.  We'd dive in whilst the parents busied themselves in the tiny kitchen peeling sprouts and stuffing turkey.  By now Dad would have started his first rum and coke of the day and, on account of the fact that he was a non-drinker all year round, would get progressively more slozzled and tearfully profess his love for his kids.  They never shared in the unwrapping of presents nor did they see the delight on my face as I received my much coveted Rolf Harris Stylophone or Girl's World.

After presents, Dad would bring in the table in readiness for our dinner.  As previously mentioned the room was small.  TV in one corner, real fire adjacent to it on the back wall, three piece suite squeezed around the remaining wall space.  The table was a big, heavy duty wooden affair that filled the floor space.  The five mix and match chairs were positioned around, meaning we had to climb into our seats and squeeze into the gap between chairback and table edge.  We children were left to our own devices, whilst our parents continued to make dinner.  Now, this often resulted in unfortunate situations.  One year I decided to see how close I could get my Christmas cracker over the table candle.  Great game until...WOOF...up it went in flames.  I spent the rest of that day hiding under the table crying!  Barring any pyromanic disasters, dinner would be served.  By this point though, the seat that was directly in front of the fireplace would be getting quite hot. leading to complaints.  These protestations would go unheeded.  Similarly, one person would be sat with their back to the TV.  Telly was permanently on in our house.  When Top of the Pops coincided with Christmas dinner, the person sat in the telly seat would have to twist and crane their neck to see, whilst the rest of us would moan that they couldn't see past them.  More friction!  I don't remember the food...only the arguments!

If we survived lunch we'd spend the rest of the day packing away numerous chocolate bars, satsumas and sneaky shandies!  We wouldn't have been so greedy. but the Christmas food would be out on display for the whole of December and we were forbidden to so much as look at it.   "Not until Christmas day!" was the household mantra, meaning that when the day arrived we'd stuff whole boxes of Maltesers, bars of Galaxy and Just Brazils, until we were green!  I remember eating eight satsumas one after the other.  Also being dared to eat Quality Street concoptions by my sister, consisting of all the suspect flavours squeezed together by hand into a melted mass of chocolate and fondant centres!

Tea was another stressful affair.  Masses of buffet food laid out alongside the turkey carcass and leftover lunch.  My Dad always used to make stilton, brussel sprout and digestive biscuit sandwiches. It was a tradtion.  But when we helped ourselves to the excess of festive food, we'd get in big trouble.  My big sister took five varieties of cheeses from the cheese board.  She thought she was being sophisticated, sampling the dairy delights.  The shout of "Five cheeses!!" was bellowed in disbelief by Dad, crumbs of Brussell Sprout, Stilton and Digestive biscuit spewing from his mouth.  Even as a very young child, the irony of this exchange was not lost.

Tensions always ran high on Christmas Day and it'd often end in tears.  However, the limitations of an inappropriate house were responsible for most of the problems.  Money was tight but Mum and Dad always worked hard and did their best to give us girls a good Christmas.  I thank them for my unique experiences and blogging material!!