Have you even been on holiday if you don’t head straight to the Airbnb website and look up the next trip the minute you’re home? Mary-Jane Duncan looks back on family nights and warm fires.
We had a cracking few days up at Nethy Bridge with the kids. It’s a great spot with some lovely local walks, a smashing wee cafe, farm shop and a hotel that does take away dinners. Bingo.
The weather was true to its Scottish roots and remained variable but we had waterproofs and our accommodation had a wood burning stove in the living room. We even had an enclosed garden which prevented the neighbours encountering me walking down the lane in my jammies on the early walk with the pups.
It’s been a long time since I’ve stayed somewhere with a real fire. We don’t have one in our home but my parents used to.
I remember my mum tying rolled up bits of newspapers into ‘knots’, stacking them up with some firelighters and patiently waiting for the right time to pop the coal on.
Nobody ever wanted to bring the coal in but it was worth the trek to claim prized place right in front of the fire.
That and a great big bowl of mum’s homemade soup. Right in front was FAR too hot but to relinquish your spot meant you ran the risk of having to watch Noel Edmonds’ crinkly-bottomed House Party from the chilly end of the couch.
I can’t provide the kids with a roaring fire but I do still knock out vats of her homemade soup often. The mister quite often hands out forks instead of spoons with the bowls, I may, on occasion, overdo it with the veg but if you can’t make a sandwich out of your soup is it even worth the calories?
Saturday night television has more fake tan and sequins now, welcome back Strictly, but it’s still family time. Let’s face it, where else are we going these days?
To be able to relax, share some popcorn and dip easily in and out of conversation is a lovely thing. We might not all enjoy the same programmes (anyone else marry a sci-fi nerd?) but when we choose to watch a film all together it’s a favourite thing of mine.
I’m currently barred from choosing as my last few choices were utter pants apparently, I must remember to find out how long this ban has left to run.
We once explained to the kids how on Saturday nights everyone went to the video shop to choose a movie.
If you weren’t there early enough the new releases would be gone and you’d have to wait to try again next week.
I’m pretty sure they think we lived in hell throughout the ’80s…
Movie night here is a sacred thing. Being the parents of teens ordinarily requires walking around all day saying things like: Why is this wet? What is that smell? Did you forget how to talk? I don’t care if (insert name of never-before mentioned friend) is going. Where the hell is my charger? What were you thinking? Where are all the glasses? Have you walked the dogs? I’m not your maid and no, we can’t afford a cleaner. Do you think money grows on trees? Why is this light on? Do you speak to your teachers like that? Please change your tone, young lady. That’s not music, that’s just noise. Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me. I’m not asking you, I’m TELLING you. Were you born in a barn, shut the door! How many times do I have to tell you? I won’t tell you again. (This is a lie. I am going to tell them many, many, many more times…).
I have eyes in the back of my head you know. I heard himself tell my eldest ‘don’t even try to pull a sly one, your mum has better detective skills than an FBI agent’. Okay – first of all that’s true…
Behind every cranky exhausted, fed up mum is a sweet lady who just got tired of dealing with everyone’s crap.
Here… Sometimes my eyes are up to HERE.
At least on movie night I can dump a packet of popcorn into my mask and slowly eat it like a horse.
