Don't let your children read this

Why do we lie to our children? Where did that tradition come from? While I'm all for encouraging the magic of Christmas, isn't there enough in the giving and receiving of gifts? The sparkle in a child's eye on Christmas morning (the one that melts a parent's heart and makes all the preparations worthwhile) is part to do with the lack of sleep, the lights and baubles on the tree, and the excitement of the presents to unwrap. Would it really lose much, or anything, if the old man in the red suit were removed from the proceedings? I believe in stories, make believe and fairy tales, but don't try to tell my children that Snow White or Rumplestiltskin are true!

And where did the Easter Bunny spring from? We had Easter Eggs from our parents and friends, and even the occasional family egg hunt, but were never told that any of it came from the Easter Bunny, when I was a child. And as for the tooth fairy...

I am hook, line and sinker sunk in the pretence of the tooth fairy, as youngest still believes and has a very wobbly tooth. Much gratitude flows from her to the inventor of croissants, pain au chocolat and ice cream as any food firmer in texture causes the tooth to hurt. She has a worry though : does the tooth fairy visit France? She's usually pretty forgetful in our neck of the English woods, at the best of times. Lets hope she has a good map, doesn't get lost (fairy sat-nav??) and hasn't drunk too much of the local vin. And I suppose the fairy exchange rate is probably as awful as the human one. But at least, having wings she doesn't need to fork out for any petrol!

Or is there a French tooth fairy already on the look out for that little package left under the pillow.

And will she remind me? ...

Comments

Colour, Delacroix, flochetage and why don't we all have a go at inventing words

Yes - it is a real word. Flochetage. Well, a real-ish word. One invented by the painter Delacroix, when he found the dictionary cupboard bare and required a word to describe his technique of layering different coloured paints, using lightly pulled brush strokes to create texture and pattern and thereby enhance his base-layer colours (... lost? - stick around, read on and all will become clear. Or perhaps muddier ...). Flochetage implies both stringiness and threadiness. Apparently. And it sounds good - in a filling-the-mouth-with-sound sort of a way. Try it ... flochetaaaage. Not that I speak French. So I am probably mis-pronouncing it. Nor am I an artist. So what do I know about painting techniques - except that I think this one works. What I do like is the concept - you invent a new technique in whatever it is you do, hunt around for the vocabulary to describe it, find the dictionary is lacking, so make up a word of your own and announce to the world what it means. Delacroix isn...

Curlews, summer skies and walking in circles.

Summer skies over the Yorkshire Dales and my mind is set to rest mode. But that rest is not totally restful; there is a niggle ... a memory, a hint of childhood, something that unsettles slightly - a light brush stroke of discomfort; a gossamer breath of discombobulation and a 'Woah! Wait a moment!' moment of 'that's-not-right!' - we're about as far from the sea as it is possible to be in middle Britain and yet, I can hear the distinctive Peep! Peep! of oystercatchers and the piercing cry of curlew. Here - in the blue skies of the North Yorkshire dales and along the footpaths - and above the endless miles of drystone walls are birds that should be at the coast. Oystercatchers, with their distinctive red pliers attached to their heads feed on - you've guessed it - oyster beds. All along the coastline of the British Isles, their distinctive cry is the call of summer. Drowned out somewhat by the banter of seagulls but sharp and ...

Heaven clearly can't wait. Ranting and screaming inside. Growing old and lecturing ... myself, mostly.

What follows should come with a warning - it is a preachy rant. Stop now if you're not in the mood for a lecture. Or, if you're into procrasti-reading, read on and (hopefully) enjoy my latest piece of procrasti-writing. Apologies too for the reference to elderly leakages. And farts. And now, for being deeply irreverent. Sorry. Heaven can't wait. Meatloaf was wrong. Clearly the 'band of Angels' is impatiently putting together a gig. There's a party happening which we haven't been invited to. Yet. What a terrible year 2016 has been, so far. And we are barely dipping our winter-wrapped toes into Spring. Is it that the roll-call of those summoned to a higher place grows ever more poignant as we age? Prince was but a few years older than me. Victoria Wood, a meaningless number of years older still. Meaningless because what does age mean astride the long plateau of middle age before the eventual slide into decrepitude? A few years here, a few there - we...

Walking The Dog

Search This Blog