Friday night supper at my Grans, fish and chips – same order from the fish and chip shop, it’s never changed in 30years, Friday night was fish and chip night, a gentle creature of habit, never saw him without a shirt and tie or shirt and pullover on. A different generation to us, a true gentleman. I’m glad my son had the honour to meet him, although I doubt he’ll remember in years to come.
My kitchen now showcases a beautiful glass cabinet that was once in Uncle Arthur’s living room and is home to some lovely china and ornaments that once belonged to his wife. In our living room too we now have a beautiful bureau that also belonged to him, as silly as it sounds, I’d rather have that than any modern piece from Ikea, not just for the sentimental value but its true craftsmanship, something that I hope my son will one day appreciate and love,
admittedly I’m bias, we all know I’m a 1940’s reject, but something about that wonderment and magic of yesteryear just shines through in these antiquated pieces of furniture and sings a song to me that I love to hear.
Anyway, I’m presently sat in the dark typing away, not through choice I may add, and no, I haven’t blown a fuse, my son is refusing to sleep and has an almighty cry when I leave the room, so I’m hoping if I sit in here for long enough, ignoring him, he’ll fall asleep and I can sneak out. This is not a common occurrence I might add, but it is enough to make me melancholy.