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Tuesday, 28 March 2006
Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens...
Easter is my favourite time of year. Eh, I love all those fluffy little chicks and bunnies. Happy, golden memories. Nothing can replace them.
Of course, my childhood was a time of great joy and happiness. Our Dad would dress up as a giant egg and boil himself in a pot of tea.
How Our Mum used to laugh!
We used to chase him round the garden with a giant spoon made from an old table leg and a chamber pot and try to crack his skull.
How Our Mum laughed the year Our Victoria cracked him a good one and he had to go down the hospital. "An octopus doesn't swim in a tree," she said. How right she was.
And them little chickens. Champion. We used to get cotton wool balls out of them old blue glass aspirin bottles and steep them in grandfather's urine. Then we'd peg them out the back to yellow up proper and dry in the Spring sunshine.
On Easter Day we'd gather them all up and stick them together with Grampa Toole's phlegm and make them into lovely little chickens. At the end of the day I'd always cuddle up with one in the bed we all shared - they smelt just like real feathers.
And the bunny races. Could anything be more fun?
Little Tommy would be stripped naked and boiled in tea, just like Our Dad. My, he did feel important. After that we'd tie his little legs up so he couldn't stand upright and make him hop by hitting him with bunches of privet hedge.
How Our Mum used to laugh and say "Ooh, you look just like a raspberry" and she'd punch him a few times to make him look proper red. What a sight he was. I laughed till I was sick.
After that all the Uncles would chase him with air rifles yelling, "Rabbit for tea, Our Vera."
They never hit him, of course, except for that time Uncle Frank took his ear off, and Uncle George grazed a flank, and our Bert did puncture his lung, of course, but high jinks, eh? And he's been able to get about fine with the tank the hospital gave him.
Ah, they were the best of times. Great times. Not like nowadays when it's all cheap toys and chocolate rubbish. We made our own entertainment then, not like now, when it's all blood and guts and peoples' bits.
Little 'uns nowadays get plenty of stuff, but they don't get love, not like we did.
No, they don't, poor little mites.
But, there, I'm soft, me………. have I told you about me kittens?
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