As the title suggests, this page is dedicated to all things homely and comforting, as well as blasts from the past.
‘Megan, aged thirteen’
After an MRI scan on my horribly crunchy knee yesterday (thank god for ear defenders), I forced my company on my parents again.
Whilst at their house, I decided to have a rummage through my old chest of drawers to see what I could find.
First of all, I made the HIDEOUS discovery of my old diaries. Turns out I could fill pages and pages (and pages) with scribbled over-analysis of a conversation I’d had with a boy I ‘fancied’ (sorry, S) and a favourite hobby of mine was to exchange photos of ‘hot celebrities’ with my friends over MSN.
Needless to say, I read a few pages of each diary before the cringe factor got too much and I nearly bit my own hand off.
Secondly, I found my old poetry books. Apparently, when you’re thirteen, you have to declare your age on every piece of work you write, along with the day you wrote it. It seems Thursday was ‘mildly depressing teenage poetry’ day.
As expected, the majority of the poems were downright awful (including two which were somehow published?!) but I was actually quite proud of a couple…!
S and I took great amusement from the following poem (written in an English lesson on a Thursday, of course), which was based on my experiences of playing a ‘village child’ in a local and extremely amateur pantomime at the age of eleven.
(NB It’s far from complimentary…)
Christmas Pantomime Recipe
Pick a bunch of talentless children and fold them in at the deep end.
Shout at them if they fail to rise to your standards, before scooping up some over-confident adults and sprinkling compliments all over them.
Shove some sets into a back room and push the children around, before leaving them to set whilst you work on the adults.
Take a fistful of mothers and fathers and mould the mothers into the kids’ dressing rooms.
Sprinkle the unsuspecting fathers over the sets and make them strain to put them into place.
Lastly, knead all into a warm theatre and prod with a spoon until the mixture bubbles and boils over.
Hats off to you, ‘Megan, aged thirteen’.
And Mum and Dad…
I’ll be clearing out that chest of drawers just as soon as I’ve hired a skip.
Appreciate your parents, kids!
Last week, I stayed with my mum and dad for a few nights whilst S was away (I know, how dare he?) and it was lovely 🙂
I slept in my old room, in my old bed and commandeered my old bathroom (sorry Dad).
The first morning, I donned my workout gear and went to a dance fitness class with my mum. I really enjoyed it, and even managed to keep up with the regulars. Unfortunately, the cool-down stretches were a different story, as I have the balance of a drunken hippo.
Every day, we went for an hour-long walk with Lola, the family springador. That dog is guaranteed to cheer you up; especially when she fills her mouth with as many pine cones and lumps of moss as possible, then looks offended when you laugh at her and take photos.
I had lots of lovely dinners at my parents’, too, and they took me out for lunch one day, where I was overjoyed to find that my sweet jacket potato was the size of my head.
They listened whilst I talked about things that were probably massively boring to them, and I lost track of the amount of times I was offered a cup of tea or my dad tried, (often successfully), to lead me astray with a chocolate biscuit.
Although I’m the wrong side of 25 (lord have mercy), my mum wrapped my pyjamas around a hot water bottle every night before I went to bed (take note, S…) and gave me squash with a straw.
I really enjoyed staying with my parents, and went home with a renewed sense of appreciation for everything they do for me; whether I’m playing the role of Grown-Up in my own house, or Youngest Daughter at theirs.
One of my guilty pleasures, as I admitted in the post below, is lounging around in ill-fitting but incredibly comfy clothes. However, there are a few more…
Pick n Mix
Ohhhh my god. I can’t even begin to explain how much I love Pick n Mix. Anything fizzy or sour will fall victim to my plastic scoop, as well as a few chocolate raisins for good measure. (Anything with caramel, liquorice or honeycomb in it is safe though…)
I find these comforting. The content can be a bit pants, but they’re always a good distraction.
Easter eggs and advent calendars
Ok so I’m in my mid twenties and own a house, but I would sulk like a good’un if my mum didn’t get me my annual chocolate goodies.
In all fairness, I don’t think this really classifies as a ‘guilty pleasure’ because Disney is AMAZING but hey. My all-time favourite Disney films are Aladdin and Beauty and the Beast
Gotta love a bit of Backstreet Boys, N Sync and McFly. Now I’m not saying I listen to their albums in my car or anything (honestly, I don’t…Ok, maybe Mcfly…) but I’m the first to sing along if their songs come on the radio.
Cuddly toys in bed
I rarely sleep on my own these days, but if I do, I have to have my childhood toy ‘Dogger’ in my arms. He’s a little threadbare and holey, but he still gives great cuddles.
Ok now this really is a guilty pleasure. I’m neither a teenager nor a ‘mom’, but I got hooked on this programme a few years back and would probably still indulge in a cheeky episode.
Guilty as charged.
All hail the tracksuit bottom
In an ideal world, I would stay inside with a book (see previous page), but I have things to do today that involve facing the elements.
I donned my extremely fashionable charity-shop raincoat, but my jeans were saturated within minutes. And then a lovely man drove his car really fast through a puddle and drenched me even more. (I just hope he heard my anguished growl…)
Needless to say, I was not a happy bunny when I eventually got home. The jeans were peeled off and hung in the airing cupboard, and on went the (men’s) tracksuit bottoms.
Which got me thinking…
How amazing are tracksuit bottoms?!
There are fewer things better in this life than taking off wet jeans, restrictive work trousers or a dress and heels and pulling on some fleecy tracksuit bottoms. If you really want to spoil yourself, you can go crazy and put on some slipper socks too (…although I must admit I’m currently sporting Christmas socks, as they make up the majority of my underwear drawer…)
Let’s just say, you wouldn’t want to turn up at my house unannounced. You’d be horrified by how unattractive one person can become once on home turf.
As soon as I get in, I take off whatever I’ve been wearing and put on my ‘comfy clothes’; namely tracksuit bottoms and some sort of completely shapeless jumper. Last week I ended up in an all-grey tracksuit ensemble. S came home from work and thought he’d stumbled into a ghetto.
I also like to take my make-up off as soon as I possibly can. I don’t wear a lot anyway, but there’s something nice about knowing you can rub your eyes as much as you want without fear of the panda-eye.
And my naturally curly hair is untamed at home too. I am a frizz monster and I don’t care who knows it.
So today, between the jobs I have to do in the outside world, I will be languishing in my unattractiveness.
And loving every second.