‘The Song from Somewhere Else’- A Review

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To review a book is either pleasurable or piteously painful, depending on what you have got on your hands. I can honestly say this handsome treasure by A.F Harrold (illustrated by Levi Pinfold) for young people makes me smile slightly every time I spot it (casually awaiting my stolen moments in time) on the desk.bitmoji-20170216102759 Hardbacked and dust-jacketed, I felt elegant just holding it. I loved reading this book. I loved reading what is essentially a tragedy to me. Friendship, parenting, the supernatural and love all feature as key themes combining to form a tale of intrigue with more than a tinge of sadness.

A beautifully sibilant title, ‘Song From Somewhere Else’ is consistently sonorous in tone from the mysterious title to the last line, singing strangely to you across every page. Beautifully illustrated by Levi Pinfold, this is somewhat a gothic modern day fairy story, brutal reality at times juxtaposed with magically surreal moments. Tim Burton would be my director of choice for this story. Strange, angular creatures from other worlds appear alongside the mundane dad making tea or the the group of bored teenagers living their own version of Lord of the Flies in the town park before they head home to an absent parent home or a grim supper.

Frank (Francesca) is quickly introduced as a victim of bullying. Blissfully ignorant parents smile at the group of boys who harass her, terrifying me as a new mother. Can parents be so unaware of their children’s misery? The thought appalls me as I read Francesca’s tale. Yet I remember my own teens. Many the day I kept a horrible experience secret from loving parents. Just as Frank does. Haunting images of the frail, frightened Francesca, as her head hangs in her loneliness, are painted in both words and sketch on every page. Threatening shadows prevail on every street corner exacerbating her solitude. Her stomach appears almost as a character in its own right as her digestive system is held hostage to her tumultuous daily world. 20170208_102308-1.jpgThe foreshadowing of sadness occurs early on as Frank searches for a much beloved and fabulously named cat, Quintiles Minimus.  As someone who has named a black feline Humphrey Bogart, I am drawn to this girl immediately.20170208_102333.jpg

The theory that we are all bullies and victims in life at different stages of our lives is quickly brought to the fore with the introduction of classmate Nick. Frank’s treatment of the much scathed and teased Nick can lead the reader to judge their heroine harshly. He falls to the bottom of the pile when it comes to the teenage predatory circle of life and leads to me wonder. Would I have acted any differently as a teenager? Concerning to think, possibly not. The bullying escalates in a grittily true way, cleverly demonstrated by a two page sketch of nettles as the climax of the torture is reached. Words are not always necessary. 20170208_102203Frank’s desperation and terror combine to create her horrific actions. It is possibly easier to forgive her as an adult. I wonder would a tweenage reader empathise or criticise? Nick’s family story is the enigmatic mystery of the piece. It is the unexpected salvation of Frank- in a less than predictable way.20170208_102228.jpg

Shades of grey, blacks and whites dominate this teen mystery in both copy and imagery creating a dramatically tense environment as the plot progresses. A colourless world is depicted, at times almost totally lacking in hope or joy. Pinfold’s beautiful illustrations were captivating and brought the tale to life as I found I wanted to study every image. This is not to lesson Harrold’s writing in anyway. As an English teacher I almost compulsively felt a need to underline (I didn’t do it as I couldn’t ruin the book!) most effective uses of imagery which were employed throughout, as examples for a student to learn from. Delicate personification, accessible pathetic fallacy- the reason this plot is hauntingly atmospheric. A beautiful piece of writing and a visual joy.

I would be concerned that a young person may take the message that world is a sad place. On the other hand, I think they can handle this message better than I – a thirty something mother! I will honestly admit that one scene made me sob, truly ugly cry, for another mother. As a younger person, it is likely this scene would be much simpler to deal with. So I would leave it you. If your young adult loves dark mystery and social drama on an enigmatic level, this is the one they need. If they enjoy looking at charcoal or pencil sketch visuals, this is a must.

I am waiting for the moment to buy this book for a young person. I can think of many adults that will adore it. As it stands, I don’t want to give it to my relations under ten, probably due to the grip on reality in the plot. Maybe I don’t want to expose these children to the ugly world of intimidation that Francesca Patel abides within, even if it has a resolution. Maybe I am part of The Cotton Wool Gang. The youngster I get this for this for must have a love of the supernatural. Then again- I was personally gripped by this tale. A childhood lover of Blyton, an avoider of anything too ghostly, this was a book I may have turned away in my youth. Which would have been a terrible shame.

Of course, I really, really wanted to know what happened to the cat…as I am sure you do too. You will have to read yourself to find out. 20170208_102253

As a Boolino friend, I am occasionally sent books to read and review. I receive no payment for this, but will have a free copy of the text. All opinionated ramblings appearing here are very much my own! Hope you enjoyed.

The best laid plans o’ Mice and Men…

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My dad is in hospital.  Let us get that out of the way first. In hospital with a heart condition that has been described as ‘walking time bomb’ awaiting the call to St James for the big one. Triple bypass.

It is a grim irony that today,  on the Day of Hearts, I worry about hearts. Damaged ones. Shrinking arteries. Broken ones.apple-570965_640.jpg

I could talk about my grievances with the leaders of our country and their tenuous grip on reality when it comes to our atrocious health system. I could discuss the ‘hidden public’ as patients like my Dad are now known, that are listed and ignored until they are called. The hope is their life can outlast the list. It is that grim.

I am that afraid.

I could talk about hospital drives. Visiting hours. Depression. Fear. Anxiety. Watching my mother dissolve and stay strong in the same moment. Being the older sibling who is trying to juggle home life, children, full time job and this hospital sub-life that we are now imprisoned to.

I could talk about how I really feel. But let us not open that reservoir of pain.heart-1297121_640

This morning is Tuesday. Disgustingly selfishly, I can’t stop focusing on my own exhaustion despite watching my dad suffer this daily monotony of hospital living and my mother rotate her whole world to accommodate it, I think of me. Despite a sister flying in and back from Scotland, so much travel and pressure,  I think of me. Despite my little girls having to spend a day in crèche, I think of me. Despite a husband working solid days on a busy farm, I think of me. I feel guilty.image-0-02-04-e87646cf18b513008786f02d06be4408091eb1e1900fbfa1165973a06406d9ca-v

On the constant weight watch,  I make a decision.  Fully loaded fruit scone with Cappuccino in a little cafe I love. Sneaky moments with the blog. Renergise. Forgive myself the calories this time. Make myself better with FOOD. I can handle it all with a happy  (yet chubby) tum. So, I do it.

As Robert Burns once extoled, these plans we have ‘gang aft agly’. (Often go assways). robert-burns-1593923_640This is why I am sitting chewing on something brown and nasty, seedy and burnt, literally NOT my cup of tea. The waiter got confused.  I have been given a spelt scone. Spelt Stone more like. Nutty and healthy, I can feel it almost extending stinky, fibrous  fingers attempting to massage my aura. No amount of butter and jam is giving this luxury for me. It tastes as smoke damaged as the lost dreams of dead hippies.

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Beautiful presentation.  Irish guilt stopped me from sending it back. 

I am sorry for insulting the lovers of the health food and please know that I can give it all a fair good whack usually.  Just not today. Today I need butter and white flour, sugar and cream.

I can hear a few voices mutter as they read that maybe the spelt might save me from the same fate as my father.

Maybe.

Maybe not. Spelt might spell healthy for my heart but today it ‘spelt’ disaster for my soul.

The spelt is not working any magic right now anyway. That is for sure.

Burns was not joking. Steinbeck had it on the ball. We make plans in life. To travel. To play. To not be in hospital. To eat scones. To do it all- soon. And sometimes it doesn’t happen that way at all.

Sometimes we are made think a different way.

The Day of Hearts. I never thought I would spend it like this. Obsessing over a heart, yes. My own? No. My lover’s? No. ( Though I love you Mr Paper, know that). No. I am over thinking the organ that doesn’t appear on the cards.

Unless it is a medical card.

Praying we can fix it.

Soon.

 

When Parenting isn’t Very Lady Mary

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One of my oldest friends has recently had a dotey little girl. A second baby to add to a loving home with an already much doted upon little girl already in residence. My friend -let’s call her Paulette- now has a very similar situation to myself. Two of age two and under. This little piece is inspired by you and for you Paulette and your little family!bitmoji-20170206033749

Parenting is rewarding and lovely and sweet and snugly and magic moments and all of these things in ads, Richard Curtis movies and songs. It is also pooey, pukey, tear inducing and frustratingly exhausting. Sometimes, it just isn’t very Lady Mary to be a Mam.

Do you know Lady Mary? Who she is? Have you been asleep under a rock? Female protagonist of title in much beloved and now deceased series Downton Abbey. There is a way about Lady Mary. An attitude and a set of expectations. You might know what mean. Something in her walk. Her demeanour. She won’t be beaten by a tantruming child. She won’t give into the Bourbon biscuits. She doesn’t have to you see. She is Lady Mary. Shit gets done for her.tumblr_mxln9hkncy1qhub34o1_500

Paulette and I have had much discussion and many the natter over said series. Moments of Paulette’s hen party and wedding were often dotted with moments that were addressed as Not Very Lady Mary and as we continue into the parenting time of our life, so continues our comparisons and judgements-to the supercilious yet beautiful, haughty yet occasionally (can’t say warm…) lukewarm, albeit thoroughly fascinating Lady Mary.tumblr_nlsbr2viEL1u08yodo7_500.gif

So Paulette- I had these thoughts many times over the last few years. Hope they give you a smile, now that you and I are in the same little lifeboat!

What has changed for me…

1. My Swagger.  Lady Mary is always so groomed. Anna in tow, there are evening gowns, hairstyles and fashion abounding. As bad as we are pre-baby one, two definitely might mean the hair tie pulled over uncombed hair and the baby ‘uniform’ of sweats and hood ie.  may take precedence awhile. Tossing the Ralph Lauren V-neck into the wash basket before 11 am due to violent reflux just isn’t Very Lady Mary. Sigh…downton-abbey5x02-mary-and-anna

Tip: Indulge in an expensive and beautiful baby handbag. We deserve it. We have no Anna to give us style.

2. Privacy.  I just get the feeling LM can wee alone. Whilst we wrestle with toilet rolls, handbasin headbutts and wet floors with an audience and a healthy dose of guilt as baby two whimpers in a crib. Definitely not Very LM.

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Throne Room.


Tip: The minute you see a responsible adult that you are vaguely trusting of GO TO THE LOO.

3. Meals. We all have the iconic image of the family at dinner in Downton, nibbling and tasting,  different wines for different courses and being waited on hand and foot. Delicate, witty conversation delights all with the occasional bit of controversial topic thrown in for spice. Beats the quickly swallowed down, coldish gloop we managed to throw together and the grimaced hellos we throw our partners as we make a bid for freedom  (or the loo) in the ‘evening meal’ as a new Mam!

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Someone call for a Family Bucket? Wing-dings, if you please.

Tip. Order the takeaway. The Waistline can live another day.

4. Our Cash. LM has bags of something monetary in her life and can afford all of the best for her boy. We have our sweeties and spend every penny on giving them the best too but more at our own cost than LM does. Crèche costs are killer. They don’t really do group rates…

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I am bludy loaded! !

Tip: Bear in mind, this is short term. The state has to help us out when they are 3 and up, thank God! Lidl and Aldi will be OK for now. LM doesn’t have such a go-go as Jimmy’s Superstore. Her loss.

5. The Sleep. Oh, the big kahuna. Sleep will be assaulted by midnight banshee wails. The baby might cry too…! LM has a night nurse. Of course! So she gets to bed all cold-creamed and undisturbed. Midnight feeds are not very LM.

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Baby in Sailor Gear:’Who IS this woman holding me??’

Tip: She doesn’t get the personal touch. She is LM after all. A cold fish. She will be Mother. We will always be Mammy to our mites. They are only ‘presented’ to her on occasion in best bib and tucker. Not very You and Me!

6. Bring a Moany Mammy. I feel like I have never moaned so much before. There just seems like a lot to be whiney and whingey about. Apres birth aches and bruises, the physical ones (and the sneaky, silent invisible ones). The weather. The way the day goes. The nights. The lack of sleep. The monotony. We all know what Lady Mary would say…

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Poor Edith. We are all Edith to LM.

 

Tip: YOU are still YOU. So, if you are feeling more complaining than before, it is because you gotta REASON! This too will pass as they say. Cliché for a reason – it is true. Life is a little bit more hard work than it was and even though you feel immersed in your blessings and good fortunes (we love those little people to distraction) your body and mind might find it harder to keep up with your heart xbitmoji-20170206034832.png

So to all those new Mothers of more than one- yes, Lady Mary might look to have is sussed. However, she is really not REAL! She wouldn’t last a day in our world, no Anna, no Carson, no meals5571621c9081287eb2d01e726822ce3b handed up to her. She would have to actually mind her own baby- no scary Nanny to frighten it out of its wits!

Parenting may not be very Lady Mary at times, but then again, Lady Mary is not very parenting.

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She doesn’t find it all very easy either.
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Let us not forget this once happened too…similar to the three am reflux slip n’slide, perhaps!

I still love Lady Mary. I just don’t really want to be her.

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Life is easy when someone does the work for you!

So hopefully, we can see the funny side of when life is Not Very Lady Mary.

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Barack Obama- We will be missing you

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bitmoji-20170126030901There are a few reasons why having Barack Obama in power made me feel Safe.bitmoji-20170126025447

I remember Obama winning so well. The inauguration ceremony where he fumbled the words and they had to go again. The emotions. The power. Here was a guy making history. It felt good to know he was in the White House.

As an Irish person, he was not even my President.  Why is it that it mattered so much? The President of America has to be someone outstanding.  Respected.  Trustworthy.  Charisma? Sure. It helps. They haven’t all been this way. Yet Obama has a magic power. Why did I like him? Why did I feel safer with him on charge of The Button over so many others?bitmoji-20170126025559

My reasons may not be all the right ones, but they are all my own and in no particular order.

  1. The Offaly Connection. Barack is of Irish origin and we loved it. We loved JFK for it in an almost sycophantic way. Many the beloved framed image of JFK could be found alongside one of the Pope. Obama is my time though. Obama roots are in MY country and MY county. I love this connection. This is my loved county. I am delighted  that of all Presidents, he found his Kearney relatives in mine. Moneygall (ancestral village) has ridden the crest of the wave since the honour of his visit.
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    Eating chips will always remind us of you!

    The Obama Plaza is now proudly standing alongside other (random in their own way) momentoes and I guess many the anecdote and recounted tale of the day the President came to Offaly will be a legacy to many. A tremendous day for the Faithful County.

    U.S. President Barack Obama jokingly swings a hurling stick given to him by Taoiseach Enda Kenny during his visit to Farmleigh House in Dublin
    Please hit Enda with the hurl. Please.

2. The Soul. I loved when he would break into song.gty_obama_campaign_apollo_jp_120120_wblog.jpg

3. Family man. There is something about those four together. I can imagine the squabbles but also the giggles. His wife adores him and admonishes him at all the normal  times. Remember the inappropriate Mandela funeral selfie? Michelle Was Not Impressed. Rightly!! 37e0a24dcf8ec1da2b77e0200d7223ee.jpgI love how he shows his love of her so kindly. No sexual indiscretions. No rumours even of Monroe type figures. Class all the way. Scandal free. Shouldn’t this be an obvious quality? I just think he is normal.  He doesn’t cheat. He doesn’t offend. He will drink the pint of Guinness when offered-but knows when to stop.obama-moneygall-21

4. Sense of humour. He always had a gag or one liner. Inoffensive.  Light hearted. The crowd in Moneygall loved his banter. Nothing cruel of offensive. Just keeping everyone happy.

5.The Dublin trip. OK, I mentioned the day he went to Offaly. I was at work that day but I had a burning desire to see this guy in the flesh before he left Ireland. At the very last minute, just after work, (three thirty pm) on the day Obama went to Dublin, my boyfriend (now husband) best friend and I decided to go. Chance it. Fly up. See what we could see! Enjoy a sporadic last minute jaunt and give up the evening for the two hour drive to Dublin. Obama motivated us. People has been queuing the streets of Dublin from early. We didn’t expect go see anything.  We just wanted the emotions of moment. Nowadays we all have children and this sort of trip would never happen without great planning. This is one of my last memories of being sporadic before the responsibilities of parenthood set in. We had such a fantastic trip. The excitement of our decision.  The slightly too fast drive up. We parked in the jammiest spot. You know those perfect moments- we had missed the insane queues and arrived just as someone left a magnificent spot. Got to the main route. Front of the barrier. Ten minute wait and then the cars came by. OMG. I saw him clear as day in the  backseat and Michelle waved in our direction. On an Obama high, we listened to the speeches, piped all over Dublin. It was amazing. Like every county had won the All-Ireland. When he said his famous ‘Yes we can!” in Irish- Is Feidir Linn- I would have fought battles for him. The day continued golden for us as we ate the best chicken wings in Dublin at Elephant and Castle in Temple Bar (see Glorious Food Moments 2: Dublin, a city of comfort food hidden behind Georgian doors. for full discussion of said wings) and had some really strange but kinda cool occurences. As we waited to eat, we saw a crowd forming outside. My husband waited inside but my friend and I headed out. There was Jedward! Turning around, the members of Westlife were passing in a car (this is a small area) and then Brian O’ Driscoll sprinted past with our recent rugby win, The Heineken Cup. Buzzing, we went back from our quadruple celebrity spotting! A great Dublin day. All because of Obama.

6.Pearl Jam. Played at the farewell ceremony. Too cool. Just listen to Yellow Ledbetter to know why.931b8c7f.png

7.Opening minds. We were opening minds. Not closing them. Not narrowing them. The way it should be.

8.Respect. No volatile outbursts. He has respect for people. It is clear as the day is long. Watching small interactions, staged or not, they have something as bouts them that shouts real. I really respect you, it says. You just get the feeling he likes people. I don’t feel patronised or disrespected by his words.

So Mr Obama. From someone who wasn’t an American citizen but a world citizen-we will be missing you.bitmoji-20170126030058.png

I know a Mam who…

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So I have had a trying few weeks. Blogging is something I love, yet almost a year in and I find myself not wanting to write anything overly negative about life. Even if it is how I am feeling. This is meant to be my platform to help so I don’t know why I am watching my words.

So to help me overcome the problem I trying an experiment.  I am going to write my woes and woohoos but cushioned by the fact that some of the following are about me and some are about others.pretending_by_therealdollyfrikka

Anonymity, yet absolute truths.

Will let you know if it has the cathartic effect I desire…

So.

I know a Mammy who…

Works fulltime but hates every minute of it.

I know a Mammy who…

Prays to Jesus each night her baby will go to sleep when waking for for the nth time.

I know a Mammy who…

Gave up her job to be a full time mother and is totally satisfied with her lot.

I know a Mammy who…

Prioritises ironed clothing over an evening on the couch and is never uncreased. 

I know a Mammy who…

Dreams of that scene in The Holiday when Kate Winslet’s character wakes in the giant bed in the Hollywood moneyed bedroom with the 100% black out blinds and decides to just roll the blinds back down and have another nap.

I know a Mammy who…

Brings her children everywhere with her and fears nothing about being outnumbered, under pressure or overwhelmed.

I know a Mammy who…

Feel strain every day and may be closer the edge than we think.

I know a Mammy who…

Has children who hug each other and love each other.

I know a Mammy who…

Never admits to feeling strain.road-sign-940644_640

I know a Mammy who…

Takes her pain out on her husband.

I know a Mammy who…

Wishes she didn’t have to use the toilet frequently.

I know a Mammy who. ..

Needs to let go and have a big night out with an even bigger morning off the next day.

I know a Mammy who…

Now realises fully how sleep could be defined as currency.

I know a Mammy who…

Fears her child will be bullied in school.

I know a Mammy who…

May need anti depressants just to get the laundry done.

I know a Mammy who…

is realising she may need too get those anti depressants just so she sees the dust and stops caring.

I know a Mammy who…

Chose to lose her friends.

I know a Mammy who…

Wants more children but is terrified.

I know a Mammy who…

Doesn’t want her child to grow up thinking men are to be waited on hand and foot.

I know a Mam who ..

Wishes her daughter had siblings.

I know a Mammy who…

Does not know how to say no.

I know a Mammy who…

Dreads sunlight as it highlights the dirt and dust.

I know a Mammy who…

Is aging physically at a rapid rate.

I know a Mam who…

Rocks designer gear and a size 8 body.

I know a Mam who…

Feels a little bit worse about themselves when in the company of that other Mam.

I know a Mammy who…

Needs a break from thinking.

I know a Mammy who. ..

Never does anything for herself.

I know a Mammy who…

Misses her old life, although loves her children. Just misses a few aspects.

I know a Mammy who…

is interfering.

I know a Mammy who…

Is nervous and fearful.

I know a Mammy who…

Needs a timeout.

So I know many Mams. We all have highs and lows. It is amazing to be a Mam and tough in equal measures. Those adorable little dotes can’t help it but sometimes we feel like coping is a hard act. We try so hard not to let them see but the acting has to cause strain elsewhere.

And it does.dad-1716160_640.jpg

Christmas. A Very Peculiar History. A Review.

Although elements of my Christmas could always be titled ‘peculiar’, that isn’t what this post is about.

No

This is a little book review. Of what is a very peculiar, and indeed little book! Christmas. A Very Peculiar History.christmashistory

‘Christmas. A Very Peculiar History’ by Fiona Macdonald is a pocket sized, prettily packaged stocking filler essentially. A blue, red and white garland of colour, images of Santa and gilt edged designed, it is a busy looking piece. In fact, it is a history book, documenting every element of Christmas with the story behind it, often strange and sometimes sinister, to compare with the perceived serenity of the event itself.

This factfile is not fully for the doe-eyed Christmas lover, wishing to indulge in a cinnamon and ginger scented fantasy of a magical and fairy filled yuletide dream. It may be more for the pedant at Christmas, one who enjoys the mulled wine and tradition but would not blink at the grittiness that the origins of our Christmas may reveal.christmas-crib-figures-1903954_640.jpg

My first impression of this little book was based on purely  a visual element and was one of joy. As a lover of curios and old world books, see Aesthetically Irresistible Books for proof of this indulgence), I was enchanted by this little lovelie.An old world cover, vintage festive imagery and cover prints makes this a very festive feast for the eye.This version appears very Christmassy. I thought of all sorts of people who may love to possess such a dinky treasure. Five pages in however and these names in my head began to alter to completely different set of people! This is not a book for the faint hearted. It is not for the Christmas jumper wearing, Snowball drinking, tinsel loving all-singing, all -dancing number one Chrstmas fan. In fact, it may even even be best suited to the -gulp- Christmas cynic.

Later chapters present a more palatable information type rather than startling brute truths and returned me to the original expectation that I had held for the piece of non-fiction. Facts and truths of a festive nature. Likely this is because the book followed a chronological format and our past contains much more disturbing details than our recent past. Religion, violence, conflict- all too familiar themes of our human way of life. The book does not shield us from the real origins of Christmas. Yet it is a mind of information and is the result of extremely detailed study and clearly a work of love.

Overall, this book has the imperative ‘pick me up, put me down, pick me up again’ power that a little book of facts should. It taught me a tremendous amount about the Christmas season, a lot of which has managed to ply itself to my brain and which I retold knowingly as anecdote to- no doubt-rolling eyes and thoughts of ‘Know it all’…which is fine. Because I did know it all! I knew why mince pies were traditional and if they did include meat. I knew why Christmas was cancelled in 1644. I can identify the predecessors to our selection boxes- much candied or dried items. I know how the Sugar Plum fairy got her name.sterntaler-1635654_640

It may be too late to gift this book this season but this is one that will not go out of date. An interesting read for many, a terrifically beautiful piece to peruse through its use of illustration and presentation, this little book will return to my coffee table every Christmas- even if just for decorative purposes! I may not encourage my Santa loving, Nativity acting eight year old niece to read it at night but there is many the person, young and old that would be enchanted by this little treasury of historical quirks.bitmoji-20170105104850

As a Boolino friend I am occasionally sent books to review. I have recieved no payment, just a free copy of this book in exchange for a frank review. All thoughts and opinions are purely my own.boolino-friend-250x250.gif

Christmas Presents of the Eighties

Top Christmas Presents of the Eighties from the Viewpoint of a Girl. Who remembers Christmas morning with one of these amazing gifts?

1. A Secret Keyper. These were magical animals with a secret hideyhole for your treasures.  Mine was a purple unicorn and I loved it.il_570xn-774700298_9ysu

2. A Petite 990. Or the baby sister of it-Petite 660. We all imagined typing our future novels and correspondence forever on one of these fun products. The advert too- Working 9-5 Dolly Parton style time.  Top class! Mine worked for about ten minutes though. Bit of a disappointment.

3. A Casio Keyboard. We all went bonkers for one of these at some point. Hours of Morning Has Broken or When the Saints Come Marching in with those fun backing track keys were a joy to our parents.

4. A Care Bear. They lived on clouds and loved you forever.71zlwibcurl-_sy355_

5. My Little Pony. Tiny colourful clothes wearing horsies. Mine had leg warmers!6e167d9d3528259dc6f210ae7edc24c2

6. Atari. The coolest thing imaginable….Until. ..

7. Commodore C-64. Oh wow. The world of Dizzy. Paperboy. BubbleBobble. Hours of brain burning staring. Levels. Tape loading. Joysticks.

8. Perfection. The game with all the shapes that popped up in your face and gave you a little fright. The small pieces abundant, therefore more dangerous, predecessor of Buckaroo.

9. Go For Broke. The board game where you worked hard to lose all your money. Probably a bad lesson to learn!

10. Tiny Tears. I never got one but I knew all about her. A most coveted baby doll.

11. Teddy Ruxpin. He TALKED to you. For real.

12. Lego. The big ship. Most people didn’t get that one. Big cost. Therefore the castle with soldiers and pirates was just as amazing.

The Surprise: An annual. Bunty, Mandy, Judy, Beano, Dandy or Beezer. The best of literature. No joke.

Curly Wurly from the selection box and you were away with it.

Happy Christmas everyone!bitmoji-20161228060353 Continue reading