Guilty pleasures

Today on the WordPress Daily Post there was an interesting post, a challenge if you will, to write honestly. The author of the post was in no way suggesting that we are a bunch of compulsive liars but she asked for posts based around a writing exercise by Brenda Ueland who asked her students to write about a childhood memory in a spontaneous manner and then to reflect on how it felt and how it differed from the way you usually write. I thought I would give it a go. 

Guilty pleasures

At the weekend, when I was young and my dad was working the night-shift, my mum and I would have our own treat night. We would eat shop bought chicken pies with lots of mashed potato and gravy and watch really rubbish TV. That might not sound like anything too special but my dad hated shop bought chicken pies so we never had them unless he was working, but I loved them. He also would have hated watching Dallas. Mine and mum’s guilty pleasure.

Every Friday or Saturday night (I forget which) for as long as I can remember my mum and I ate chicken pie and then went upstairs, got our pyjamas on and snuggled up under the covers to watch Dallas (and possibly Dynasty too if it was on). My parents room had fitted wardrobes, the kind that went over the bed as well as just to the side with little fancy reading lights. It always made me feel quite grown up to click on those little lights and put my hot drink on the small shelf just above my head.

We always took upstairs a hot water bottle to warm our toes on. Maybe it was just a winter routine or it could be we just liked to have year-round toasty feet.

My mum used to say that Dallas was a load of rubbish (which it was) but we always watched it again the next week. Before I fell asleep mum used to lead me to my own bed which was cold in comparison to the warm flannelette haven I had just left. She wasn’t keen on my staying in with her because “it was like sleeping next to an octopus”. Apparently I used to wriggle and she didn’t like getting kicked in the night! (Now I have a wriggly child of my own, I can appreciate that one).

I can’t truthfully remember what our pyjamas were like, the colour scheme of the bedroom or what hot drink I was allowed to take upstairs but I can still feel the softness of the thick flannel sheets, the warmth from the bottle making my toes hot and pink and what a lovely time of life it was. Free from the strains of school and long before the stresses of work and parenting.

Dallas - Our guilty pleasure

I know Dallas is supposed to be returning to our TV screens but I think that I am a bit too old to be snuggling with my mum in bed on a weekend and I no longer have the love for the shop bought chicken pie that I once did. Maybe I can invite her round for sushi and a snuggle on my couch instead.

Well, I have literally pulled out my memory and typed. It hasn’t taken long. It is raw, needs tweeking but it feels quite refreshing. I think that rather than trying to write a finished post in the first instance, from now on I will write messily, walk away and  then tidy up before I press “post”.