The 10-20-30 Meme
Dearest Ms. Mac, Supreme Goddess of Domesticity,
I do hope you survived your perilous descent to the laundry room this morning. Your deafening silence has me somewhat worried…. Should I alert the authorities and send out a search party?
My rage and fury from last Saturday have subsided into a pleasing vigour and zest for life! I spent half of my lunch hour strolling alongside the canal, wrapped up against the cold in a thick black coat, which soaked up some warmth from the winter sun. A slight breeze teased my freshly shampooed hair around my face in a gossamer dance of golden filaments. Mr and Mrs Swan’s six babies are now strapping young swan teenagers, and have lost their brown fluffiness. They look almost grown up, in their shining white feathers.
I feel so serene and beneficent, that were now I to meet those two horrid boys from Saturday, I would probably give them a shoulder rub and offer to predict their future by feeling the lumps on their head (I predict a stretch in Borstal, followed by a stint in rehab, in which they will have a revelation and turn to Little Baby Cheeses and become Born Again Do-Gooders. What?! I am nothing if not imaginative. You know your love for me would not be nearly as deep, were I simply a humourless, boring git with as much personality as a teaspoon).
Complete change of topic: Our favourite fruity Kiwi, The Lovely Fi, challenged us with the 10-20-30 Meme, and it’s taken me a while to dredge up sufficient memories.
10 years ago - November 1997
Ten years ago I was a grey-complexioned, straggle-haired, post-natally depressed, stay-at-home Mum with two toddlers, dreading the approach of winter. Not a good time of year, as the lack of diary entries and letters home testifies. They are lovely children, but I felt isolated, inadequate, homesick and undervalued most of the time.
Take heart, all you straggle-haired, depressed young Mums: in ten years time you too could be reborn as flame-haired, vivacious bloggie comediennes, withmillions hundreds of satisfied readers! (Well nobody has asked for their money back yet...).
The good things about being at home with children: cooking and gardening, reading to my babies and taking them for walks - all in all, a slower pace of life. If I hadn’t been so busy reading The Complete Rocket Scientist/Brain Surgeon as I breastfed my baby girl, I might have watched Days of Our Lives, and The Young and the Restless on daytime telly (dubbed into horrendously snooty French, gah!)
20 years ago: November 1987
I was working as an au pair in Munich, Germany and perfecting my German. I wore god-awful bright yellow and purple clothes, had Big Hair, grey stone-washed, pachydermous baggy jeans and grey pixie boots with saggy ankles. (My daughter tells me they are all the rage this year). Those were the days of being single, slightly intoxicated, smoking wacky 'baccy and flirting with anything in trousers. I also met a lovely French girl, Sylvie. We became best friends and I followed her to France the following year, where she introduced me to Mr Grumpy Blackheart, who was Mr Irresistibly Handsome and Shy in those days.
My Munich memories: Erdbeertorte (strawberry cream cakes), Brezeln mit Butter and many, many litres of excellent beer! And ten extra kilos…
30 years ago, November 1977
I was 12 and three-quarters years old, wore god-awful pointy-collared blouses, flared denim skirts and jeans (but not at the same time), chunky hand-knitted sweaters, and sported a home-done haircut, completely lacking in style. I was not allowed to get my ears pierced, thus ruining my chances with the opposite sex. I was madly in love with my tame budgie Joey, the Bay City Rollers and the music of Abba. Had just about grown out of my puppy love for Donny Osmond. Thank God he never saw me with unpierced ears. He would fall at my feet in adoration now though.
What was I doing? Swaggering about in my “senior” year of primary school, on the cusp of summer. It was great to be in the last year of primary, looking forward to starting our secondary education. I was desperate to start studying foreign languages.
We twelve year olds were just so cool. Dude - we ruled the school! We played Kiss Tag at lunchtime. We were allowed to go to the pictures with the boys (afternoon sessions only), sittin’ in the back row of the movies. If we got lucky, the boy of our choice would put his arm around us and swap chewing gum. Nothing quite matched that particular thrill.
Love and sickeningly nostalgic kisses,
Antipo
xxxxx
I do hope you survived your perilous descent to the laundry room this morning. Your deafening silence has me somewhat worried…. Should I alert the authorities and send out a search party?
My rage and fury from last Saturday have subsided into a pleasing vigour and zest for life! I spent half of my lunch hour strolling alongside the canal, wrapped up against the cold in a thick black coat, which soaked up some warmth from the winter sun. A slight breeze teased my freshly shampooed hair around my face in a gossamer dance of golden filaments. Mr and Mrs Swan’s six babies are now strapping young swan teenagers, and have lost their brown fluffiness. They look almost grown up, in their shining white feathers.
I feel so serene and beneficent, that were now I to meet those two horrid boys from Saturday, I would probably give them a shoulder rub and offer to predict their future by feeling the lumps on their head (I predict a stretch in Borstal, followed by a stint in rehab, in which they will have a revelation and turn to Little Baby Cheeses and become Born Again Do-Gooders. What?! I am nothing if not imaginative. You know your love for me would not be nearly as deep, were I simply a humourless, boring git with as much personality as a teaspoon).
Complete change of topic: Our favourite fruity Kiwi, The Lovely Fi, challenged us with the 10-20-30 Meme, and it’s taken me a while to dredge up sufficient memories.
10 years ago - November 1997
Ten years ago I was a grey-complexioned, straggle-haired, post-natally depressed, stay-at-home Mum with two toddlers, dreading the approach of winter. Not a good time of year, as the lack of diary entries and letters home testifies. They are lovely children, but I felt isolated, inadequate, homesick and undervalued most of the time.
Take heart, all you straggle-haired, depressed young Mums: in ten years time you too could be reborn as flame-haired, vivacious bloggie comediennes, with
The good things about being at home with children: cooking and gardening, reading to my babies and taking them for walks - all in all, a slower pace of life. If I hadn’t been so busy reading The Complete Rocket Scientist/Brain Surgeon as I breastfed my baby girl, I might have watched Days of Our Lives, and The Young and the Restless on daytime telly (dubbed into horrendously snooty French, gah!)
20 years ago: November 1987
I was working as an au pair in Munich, Germany and perfecting my German. I wore god-awful bright yellow and purple clothes, had Big Hair, grey stone-washed, pachydermous baggy jeans and grey pixie boots with saggy ankles. (My daughter tells me they are all the rage this year). Those were the days of being single, slightly intoxicated, smoking wacky 'baccy and flirting with anything in trousers. I also met a lovely French girl, Sylvie. We became best friends and I followed her to France the following year, where she introduced me to Mr Grumpy Blackheart, who was Mr Irresistibly Handsome and Shy in those days.
My Munich memories: Erdbeertorte (strawberry cream cakes), Brezeln mit Butter and many, many litres of excellent beer! And ten extra kilos…
30 years ago, November 1977
I was 12 and three-quarters years old, wore god-awful pointy-collared blouses, flared denim skirts and jeans (but not at the same time), chunky hand-knitted sweaters, and sported a home-done haircut, completely lacking in style. I was not allowed to get my ears pierced, thus ruining my chances with the opposite sex. I was madly in love with my tame budgie Joey, the Bay City Rollers and the music of Abba. Had just about grown out of my puppy love for Donny Osmond. Thank God he never saw me with unpierced ears. He would fall at my feet in adoration now though.
What was I doing? Swaggering about in my “senior” year of primary school, on the cusp of summer. It was great to be in the last year of primary, looking forward to starting our secondary education. I was desperate to start studying foreign languages.
We twelve year olds were just so cool. Dude - we ruled the school! We played Kiss Tag at lunchtime. We were allowed to go to the pictures with the boys (afternoon sessions only), sittin’ in the back row of the movies. If we got lucky, the boy of our choice would put his arm around us and swap chewing gum. Nothing quite matched that particular thrill.
Love and sickeningly nostalgic kisses,
Antipo
xxxxx
posted by Antipodeesse @ 4:20 pm
1 Comments:
At Thu Nov 15, 06:49:00 am,
Anonymous said…
Funnily enough it was incredibly easy to picture you in god-awful bright yellow and purple clothes, Big Hair, grey stone-washed, pachydermous baggy jeans and grey pixie boots with saggy ankles.
Despite knowing that you are now the epitome of class and style!
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