A Good Dryin' Day!

Poor Luke waiting for his blankie to dry..

I must say, I do appreciate a good drying day. Even writing that makes me realise that the transformation is now complete, and I've turned into my mother. I wonder when that happened.
 I certainly don't remember appreciating such things during my twenties- I'm quite sure that I never looked out the window and thought, 'Hmmmm, there's great drying in that-I'll just strip those beds and get the sheets out for a good blow.'
And when exactly did the sight of a line filled with dancing towels begin to bring deep satisfaction?
I remember years ago as a teenager, on the one and only time we went as a family to France. We stayed for a few days in the Paris apartment of my Mum's old friend, while she was away.  Anyway, Mummy couldn't understand why there were no clothes lines, especially with such good weather. There WAS a dryer in the apartment but she'd have cut off her own hand rather than use that, 'T,he price of it! And on a day like that! Are you mad ?'
So, after doing 8 people's washing, she decided to dry it all on the apartment's large balcony, which overlooked the communal gardens of this super fancy Parisian apartment block.
Before too long, there were brightly coloured beach towels flapping over the heavily embellished railings and knickers, socks and t shirts on home made clothes horses covering every available space. In retrospect, I suppose that it would be fair to say that it looked somewhat....flamboyant, beside the quiet understated chic of the others.
And it certainly got us noticed, although I suspect our numbers and noise levels had already done that. Soon enough, there were several knocks on the door, and kindly but firmly informed, (in increasingly simplified French), that it just wasn't the done thing. Against the rules apparently.
So my poor Ma slunk back on outside and reluctantly took them down. 'Humpf, they must be made of money! (They were) What a waste putting on the dryer on a day like that!'
She couldn't get over it, while I couldn't get over the fact that she even cared! It was just soooooooo embarrassing. Mummy, I feel soooo wick for you.
Now of course, I totally get it but I'm just still not sure when that came about. Maybe it's like finding yourself drooling over a Lakeland catalogue, or getting excited about an easy recipe for a weekday dinner?  It creeps up on you, and one day you realize you're just like your Mother, and YOUR child's looking at you, and you KNOW they're thinking 'She's just so sad. I'll NEVER be like that.'
Ah sure, maybe they will and maybe they won't .....I suppose we'll just have to wait and see!

Lakeland..Proceed with Caution

Beware the Lakeland catalogue! And I say that as a concerned devotee. You see, I coveted their stuff before they opened a shop here, before it was mainstream, when it was still 'edgy', when a typical reaction was,

'Lakeland? Is that like Kleeneze?' (Sort of, only better.) 'Nope, never heard of it.'

And no, I'm not exaggerating when I say that I'd be LOST without my silicon egg poachers, and that I'm not actually sure how I LIVED without my insulated butter dish, and quite frankly, life would be INCOMPLETE without my Chip and Dice. And don't even get me started on this shoe tree, (Yes I know!  Both novel and space saving!) I snapped it up for the children's shoes that appear to breed in the playroom ..and it's been great. It IS perhaps a little precarious looking, but bear in mind the rigorous testing conditions it's been forced to undergo. 

Almost too good to be true!

So you get the picture- I'm a fan. That said, I know the power that it holds over me so there's a bittersweet dread when the latest catalogue pops through the letter box.  I always intend to put it straight into the recycling bin without looking ...but I can't. *holds hand up* I'm only human,  so  inevitably, I sneak a quick peek and then I'm off down that slippery slope.

With great clarity, I suddenly realise that I MUST possess that floral insulated picnic bag- how can we, as a family, possibly enjoy the summer without it? And surely nothing says 'sunny day'  like those beaded food covers? And what about the silicon cupcake cases? I don't even bake, but I soooo would if I had those bad boys. And the pinny with cakes all over it? Clearly, THERE is the reason why I havent become the master baker that I was born to be. I mean look it, I own all the latest cookbooks and I've even got an Aga, for God's sake, so it's practically compulsory! All this time, there was I thinking I was just a lazy trollop, when in fact all I needed was that gorgeous pinny! And now that the house will be coming down with cakes, I'll DEFINITELY need those coordinating tins....in all three sizes obviously, because there's nothing worse than having a cake in the wrong sized tin...I'd imagine.

You can see the problem here.

Poach pods-you"ll never go back!

The other night, as I was indulging in a Little Lakeland lust before going to sleep, (I know that sounds rude but unfortunately, it's so not), Loverboy glanced over from whatever rubbish car magazine he was pretending to read, (even though I KNOW he only looks at the pictures), and said incredulously,

'Are you actually reading a kitchen catalogue before bed?'

' I might be,' says I, ' and what?'

'Oh my God, that's sooo sad. Let's have a look. (putting on an excited voice) 'Oh yes, I simply must have that utterly useless piece of crap to clutter up my kitchen even more than it is already.' And away he went on this theme, but I'm proud to say that I didn't rise to the bait, not even to point out that he clearly had deep feelings for the poach pods, judging by the number of eggs that disappeared down his neck.  Eventually, by stonewalling him with dignified silence, the abuse stopped ..and yet he was still  having a good old nosy over my shoulder. Then,

'That sandwich maker looks the business. How much is that?'

 Dear, oh dear,oh dear,  if only our twenty year old selves could have seen us at that moment- tucked up in bed, dual control electric blankets on, perusing a kitchen catalogue together.... Or on second thoughts, possibly not. This Kodak moment (for eighty year olds), was our embarassed 'Oh God, we ARE sad', but for a twenty year old it would be a living nightmare. So I decided, no more Lakeland love in the bedroom...and I'm definitely drawing the line at the electric jam maker too...unless it goes on sale anyway.