Memories Old and New

Not only was the summer of 2023 a bumper year for tomatoes and blackberries at chez Shaw, but we have had a never ending supply of friends and family visiting. Happy memories abound even though the waistline, like the cost of living, has increased exponentially and we don't know when it will stabilise. 

It was like a Chinese laundry at times, with all the washing hanging on the line; the bottle bank took a pounding as did the scum line around the top of the swimming pool, from all the suntan lotion. 

It is one of the great pleasures of living in France, 'making memories' (as everyone seems to say these days) with family and friends, who we have enjoyed spending time with. 

As children we went on several Canvas Holidays in Normandy/Brittany. Piling into the car, a hodgepodge of suitcases strapped dangerously to the roof rack with an elasticated octopus. We would take it in turns to go in the boot of our estate car, not a seat belt in sight, sliding about with rest of the camping gear. The family size tent would be astronomically hot at night as we boiled in our sleeping bags and got bitten to death. One night there was a torrential storm and my dad had to try and dig a moat around the tent perimeter with a plastic spade to stop us being washed away. Happy memories.

We enjoyed a summer holiday in Turkey one year, well maybe not all of us. My sister had a passing resemblance to Lady Diana in the early 80s, moustachioed Turkish gentlemen would stick their heads out of passing cars and shout “Lady Dee! Lady Dee! Hey, Lady Dee!”. Happy memories.

Suntan lotion hadn't been invented when we were children. It wasn't a proper holiday if the skin on our ears hadn't bubbled and we couldn't peel great strips of skin of our shoulders like parchment. Ahh, happy memories. 

My parents were into the self-sufficiency movement when The Good Life was at its peak. We had a melange of chickens, ducks and pigs. The doyen of self-sufficiency was a chap called John Seymour who had written two bibles on the subject and which his wife, Sally, had illustrated. For two consecutive summer holidays we participated in a working holiday on their farm near Newport, Pembrokeshire. It wasn't what Cliff Richard had in mind when he wrote Summer Holiday, but we enjoyed it.

For two weeks dad would scroffle about on his hands and knees planting leeks, mum would help with the cheese making and we would have the time of our lives playing on dangerous farm equipment. Mum was a keen apiarist (having a couple of hives at home) and one day asked if I would like to come and see how the honey was collected. She had brought her own suit, but I was to wear an old suit that had been kicking about a barn, the ones with the mesh box you put on your head. 

After opening and blasting smoke into one of the hives I felt a shooting pain in the back of my head. How did that happen, I'm wearing a protective suit? Then I saw a bee crawling on the inside of my mesh helmet...I was stung again....several bees were now angrily flying around inside my hood, I was like a human snow globe. I was unable to fend them off, because of the protective head gear, which seemed to be working in the bees favour. All I could do was dance about jerking from side to side as the stings kept coming. Mum started puffing smoke into my face which didn't help. Turns out there was a blooming great hole in the back of the hat. Having been stung about thirty times my head was pulsating like a Belisha beacon and I had to go to bed for the rest of the day. Happy memories.

Once we were returning from one of our holidays tired and irascible. We three children were arguing about something, probably whose turn it was to go in the boot. Dad was a man on the edge “If you don't stop arguing, I'll stop the car and you can walk home!” After a period of calm the arguing started again. “Right, that's it!” he shouted, pulled in, lent over my mother and opened the rear passenger door “OUT!” Stunned silence. Then foot steps were heard and a hairy hippy with a guitar jumped into the back seat with us “Cheers man, thanks for the lift!”. 

Happy memories.