I’m persisting with my current Modus Operandi of not providing much in the way of fresh content, by dredging up old stuff. As I continue eat my way through ChristMonth, I can lift my fat fingers up off the keyboard little more than I can lift my fat arse off the sofa. All my energy is expended reaching for yet another cherry liqueur chocolate, so don’t be expecting me to tappy typey words if I don’t have to.
Keeping with the Christmas theme though, here is my very first blog post. My very first blog post EVER. Something personal and poignant. And one that includes a photo of me WITHOUT my face blocked. I’m the little one on the left.
‘Home is an invisible bond. A place? A time? A person? Not always a roof. Always a feeling.’
© The Lockwood Echo
Sausage sandwiches. Even now, all these decades later, a sausage sandwich will transport me back to the kitchenette of a two-up two-down ‘up home’. Hilarious really, as having been a vegetarian for over three of those decades, the sausages are no longer ‘real’, but Oh My the memory is! Then, as now, dripping with red sauce and a bit of grease from the butter. Down the chin! And my introduction to the sausage sandwich? My Grandma. My Big Grandma. So called as to distinguish her from my Little Grandma. There were never any political correctness considerations. It was a physical fact.
So me and my Big Grandma cooking up sausage sandwiches for breakfast. Through my eyes, it was a ‘Coronation Street’ house. Backyard, coal bunker, outside loo, rag-and-bone man in the alley plying his trade. Going ‘up home’ and staying with my Big Grandma was Christmas…
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