The Great Christmas Card Debate

I have always loved Christmas cards, both receiving and giving.  Most years I have tried to send out some sort of handmade creation or, in years when time forbade that option, I have still taken huge pleasure in the choosing and writing.  So it is very weird that this Christmas just gone – I did not send ANY cards at all.

Christmas Card

This wasn’t so that I could make some grand statement about paper wastage and saving the planet.  Nor did I ping out a ‘Happy Holiday’ email declaring my intention to donate the cost of cards and postage to a worthy charity.

It was simply because, when limbering up for the festive marathon, I realised that the things on my to-do list and the time available were so far removed from ever matching that something had to be crossed off.  Christmas cards it was.

It didn’t seem like too much of a big deal when I made the decision “Yay!  No cards to write!  More time to stress about stocking fillers, menus, fairy lights and sky plussing everything in the Christmas Radio Times!”

The reality was not so easy.  Every time I heard the soft ‘pfft’ of new post landing on the door mat I felt fresh stab of guilt.

All these people had found time to send cards.

I had not sent cards.

I was a bad person.

Each glittery missive was met with extra delight and gratitude (not counting the acquaintances who just sign their names, the typed address of the envelope being the only clue that the card was meant for us.  Seriously who does that?), and every round robin newsletter was read and re-read, treasured like never before.

As for those lovely folk who added a hand written message of news (and no, ‘Hope to see you in the New Year’ does not count), well they were practically elevated to hero status.

So, on balance the time saved was not a big enough pay off to offset the Christmas card angst, and next year normal service will be resumed.  Something else can be chopped from the list – I’m the only one who eats the Christmas cake anyway so what’s the point of all that soaking, stirring and feeding with brandy when I could be potato stamping holly leaves onto cardboard?

In the meantime, as I have been clearing away the decs and cards, I have kept to one side all those that included an extra message and promised myself that they, at the very least, will receive a new year’s note in return.  A small gesture of festive atonement from the Christmas Card Grinch of 2017.

Happy New Year Everyone!

Happy New Year Label

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Adventures at Camp Bestival Episode 3: The Main Event – Friday

Well, Thursday at Camp Bestival was a windy night.  I’m not talking breezy, or even gusty, but hold on to your tent flaps and pray for salvation.  The sound effects were worsened by our artfully placed bunting flapping like mad all night.  As soon as the sun rose Teen 2 was to be found outside the tent ripping off the flags with energy usually reserved for getting into an Oreo packet.

But no matter, it was Friday morning and the whole weekend was ahead of us.

As CB newbies it took us the best part of the morning to get the hang of the site.  A few laps gave us a good overview of the masses of stuff on offer and we shelled out the £10.00 for a weekend programme – no handy app available here unfortunately.

As we perused the programme over coffee I could feel a heat rising within me, was I having some sort of premature hot flush?  Was I coming down with a fever?  None of the above.

I was getting the FOMO.

There is SO MUCH to see and do at Camp Bestival that, if you are FOMO inclined control freak like myself, the pressure to race around like a loony trying to get to everything can threaten to take the pleasure out that whole thing.  As I felt the panic rising I remembered a blog I had read before we left that talked of exactly that and gave the excellent advice to let go of the idea of seeing it all and focus on enjoying the things you do get to.

Very wise words and a mantra that I had to keep repeating to myself over the weekend.

To satisfy my unstoppable need to for structure we went through the programme and ticked the things we wanted to see the most, agreeing that whatever else we could fit in as we drifted around was a bonus.

What delights did Friday give us?  We kicked off in the Big Top where You Tube teen sensations Max and Harvey sent the tweens crazy with a mix of covers and original material.  Leaving our own teens  there we scuttled to the Castle Stage for some rock chick nostalgia with T’Pau (or To Poo as one of the younger members of our group thought they were called).

You’ve got to love a rock chick, especially a rock chick of a certain age.  Carol Decker’s voice was as strong as it was 30 years ago and I had a great time belting out ‘China in Your Hand’ with the rest of them.

Early evening found us around the World’s Largest Glitter Ball eagerly awaiting Sara Cox Presents… Just Can’t Get Enough 80s. BBC Radio 2’s Cox played track after 80s track whipping us all into a frenzy of mad mum dancing.  It was like being catapulted back to the most brilliant school disco you ever went to but without the sneaky silk cut and the lovebites.  Definitely one of the best bits of the whole festival for me.

Sarah Cox 1

For food that night we discovered The Feast Collective, a tent offering a huge variety of street food with big, communal tables, a bar and a resident DJ.  Spiced buttermilk chicken in a brioche bun – yum, thank you Butchies.

Feast Collective Collage

The Feast Collective, home of Butchies Buttermilk Chicken

Friday’s main event was Mark Ronson.   I wasn’t sure what to expect, and when he ambled out all on his tod to do a DJ set I wondered if he would hold the crowd.  No worries there, he kept us all dancing with endless hits in quirky mixes, cutting tracks within a minute if the energy started to droop.  Nothing ground breaking but we danced so much that my toes went numb and that, surely, is the sign of a good night.

Mark Ronson

Teen 2 headed to the Bollywood Tent and I made for what became my favourite place at Camp Bestival, Caravanserai.  More of that later…

Sara Cox at Camp Bestival

One of the highlights of the weekend – Sara Cox’s 80’s disco.

Coming next: Adventures at Camp Bestival Episode 3 – The Main Event: Saturday

 

 

Looking for Zoella

The teens have birthdays only three days apart which presents a few logistical issues.  For a start, everything has to be the same.  It’s not like one has a birthday in February and the other in November leaving eight long months for the November born to forget what happened on February born’s special day.  With only three days to separate the events are too fresh to even be memories and the pressure is on to make sure that the present pile is the same cubic dimension, the parties/celebrations are of the same calibre and the energy levels are maintained throughout.  It is terrifying singing happy birthday when you know that you are under a pair of beady eyes doing a thorough audit of your felicitation vigour.

When they were younger there was also the party situation to navigate but, as they have got older, we have chosen not to spend money on parties but to have a family treat instead (sorry, I know that sounds annoyingly twee but I can’t think of any other way to describe it!).

This year we decided on a couple of days in Brighton because (a) it is a great place (b) we love it and most importantly for Teen 2 (c) it the home of Zoella and Alfie.

I was forbidden from sending some sort of embarrassing mother communication to Zalfie (I know, they even have their own super-couple nickname) begging an audience for Teen 2.  We had to be content with lurking around The Lanes with our eyes peeled for a sighting.  Teen 2 was adamant that if she did spot one of them she would not make an approach, a combination of nerves and respect for their privacy.  I did point out that they make a living out of having no privacy but this was greeted with a ‘you don’t know what you are talking about’ stare but, that said, she did carry round her hardback copy of ‘Girl Online’ in her backpack the whole time just in case she could get it signed.

I know.  Bless.

We clearly do not have promising futures as celebrity stalkers as Zalfie remained well hidden, but we did have a lovely time walking the hallowed ground upon which they had walked.  We are now trying to persuade Teen 1 to apply for Brighton University so that we have plenty more reasons to go back.

Can’t go to Brighton without a wander on the pier.

 And the best fish and chips EVER.  Thanks to the graphicfoodie.co.uk for the review.

 Breakfast at Bill’s

photomatic-2

 Teen 2 and her BFSB (Best Friend Since Birth) ticking a visit to Photomatic off their wish list.

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Retail therapy – Halloween pumpkins because the display was too good to resist

and an early birthday present to me, the most fantastic bag from Sophia and Matt.

tadeshi-shoulder-bag Sophia amd Matt1.jpg

This is my new favourite shop, gorgeous things everywhere.  Sophia sold me my bag and she was very lovely; I think products from their website are going to feature heavily on my Christmas list…

Sourdough pizza at Franco Manca (highly recommended – tasty, light, and amazing prices), and a trip to the Theatre Royal Brighton.

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Last morning of the trip.  Bacon bagels from Bagelman in Hove – right on Zoella’s doorstep!

Delish.

A Morning Snapshot


A bright, warm Saturday morning, the day stretching ahead ripe with the promise of sunshine and rest.  No work today and no household chores as we are in the final days of our summer break.

Trainers on and headphones in as I leave the teens in bed, groggily catching up on the social media juggernaut that has ploughed on through the night as they slept.

Outside, the village is waking too.  Bleary eyed fathers are already herding their broods down to the beach, their silhouette a peculiar seaside monster made of crabbing nets, buckets, sun tents and all-terrain buggies.

Around the corner I side step a couple of Boden clad mummies furtively vaping with big, deep drags, sipping on takeaway coffees as they try to banish the taste of Sauvignon from the night before.

Down the hill to the town beach where the sea, glassy smooth, glints and shines in the morning sun.  I glance over to the mainland where I left the everyday niggles of normal life a few days ago, and try not to think that soon we will be back on the ferry to pick up where we left off.

I follow the sweep of the bay and slow my pace as I come up behind a few of the elder states people of the community.  Soft, washed out chambray caps sitting on pillows of white hair.  Nut brown, weather worn faces a physiological log of a lifetime of sailing.

On past the sailing club and down to the beach.  There is no sail training on today but plenty of fresh-faced children pulling dinghies out to the water’s edge, buoyancy aids flapping in the breeze, shouting to each other across the sand as they anticipate another day on the water.

Up ahead there is a gathering along the sea wall, a gang of families have erected a temporary cook out and breakfast buns are being dished out and handed down the line in a sort of bacon buttie relay.  No-one makes space for me to pass and as I cross to the other side to get by I am reminded that the ‘Down from London’ contingent often seem to leave their manners at home in Clapham but always pack their huge egos and sense of entitlement into their Musto kit bags .

Homeward bound now and I make a loop heading inland to the village.  This road is wide and tree-lined, big, moneyed houses all with their own collection of shiny four by fours lined up in the drives.  Propped up against one of the gates are the remnants of last night,  a burnt out bbq, a half full plastic pint glass, all the curtains in that house are still closed tight, it must have been a good party.

Up the hill and nearly home, the cafe on the corner  is spilling onto the pavement with morning service.  The little shop that sells everything has set out its street display of nets, painted rocks, beach balls and paperbacks.  As I put my key in the front door I spy the vaping mummies again, this time hair brushed and lipstick on as they head down to the beach to play parenting tag and relieve the dads who have completed the early morning shift.

Time to rouse the teens into action.  Let the day begin.