One of my earliest memories is of a power cut. A blackout, a brownout, a powerout, a powercut.
It was during a birthday party in the house where I spent my first four years - I must have been three, so the party was most likely my own. There was jelly and icecream, and one of mother's marvelous homemade cakes.
Abruptly all the lights went out with a click. One half of my mind was startled and terrified - I clung to mother and she told me not to worry. The other half of my mind decided instantly what had happened - the TV news had been carrying stories about how electricity workers had been selfishly going on strike for more money, I assumed this was one of those strikes.
Tonight, another powercut, again plunging us suddenly into darkness. Though this time the lost illumination was from computer screens, and the event afforded us an hour of family fun.
Out came my father's collection of oil lamps, plus a dozen candles, followed by the portable gas stove for making tea and coffee.
One of the many things I have occasionally wondered is: Can you make toast by holding a slice of bread over a candle flame? I can now reveal the answer is "No" - the result is warm bread with a circle of carbon in the middle.
But resting a slice against the grille of a gas fire, speared on your grandmother's toasting fork braced against a convenient brick on the floor for one minute each side...produces excellent flame grilled toast to go with your tea.
The most fun I've had with my parents for years,
Comment I left on Andre Mcfarlane's blog:
I just want a time machine.
Specifically, I want to go back and meet my ten year old self. And tell him to worry less about sex and more about overeating. To fight back less against his parents and more against bullies. To read exactly as much as he felt like, and make as much music as he wanted.
I'd tell him he should stop being ashamed of being smarter than everyone else, but to stop assuming he was smarter than everyone else.
I'd tell him he'd twice fall in love with men he just couldn't have, even when they loved him back. And twice there'd be men who fell in love with him, but the worst thing he could do was pretend to love them back.
One small detail, which may be good or bad: If I told him all these things, and he acted on them, he wouldn't grow up to be me.
When I was living in Finchley, we used to cook poppadoms, on a one bar electric fire turned on its side.
ReplyDeletePerhaps it was the time and place, but they are still the best poppadoms I've ever eaten.
It's good you seem to be getting on with your parents better, nowadays. I'd quote poetry about age and tolerance, but sadly, I can't think of any.