Flashback Friday with a twist

It’s a Friday that feels like a Saturday. It’s been a day of normal everyday tasks which I had done and dusted by 9 this morning, where that energy came from I really don’t know, but I wish I could be that on form everyday.
So today has been a beautiful spring day, I’ve felt a little warm for the first time in months, I’ve managed to spend time outside which really does not happen in my life at the moment, still I had to wear two jumpers, thermals, two long sleeve t-shirts and my coat, boy I’m sure that must have been a picture for any on lookers. Reynaud sucks. ⛄️
So anyway I found a burst of energy from God knows where and I laid a patio/shed base all on my own. Feeling kinda chuffed with myself if I’m honest. I’ve never done anything like that before but boy don’t I know it know. I need my bed, even though it’s the loneliest place on earth.
You may be thinking, “where are you going with this?”
Well as I was trying my hardest to put a base down for a woodshed, memories came flooding back to me and as it is flashback Friday and I don’t have any posts to share with you, (No posts have been blogged on the 25 March since I started this blog back in 2013) I thought I would share a memory from my childhood instead.

I’m sure we can all remember being given our pocket-money as a child.
I do, I remember how important I felt, having the responsibility of money, how grown up I felt when I was allowed to the corner shop to buy a pick a mix. How I made those 1 pence sweets last the whole week because I was trying so very hard to show responsibility.
Such powerful feelings for such a young child.

One of my strongest memories from my childhood, was saving up 50 pence a week, so I could buy my grandad a birthday present.
I loved my grandad, I really wanted to buy him something special, little did I know back then, what a rat he was, a complete waste of space and an evil man he really was.
Growing up really does suck, I wish I could have worn rose-tinted glasses as children do for the rest of my life. If only the world and the people in it, were really as we saw them as children.

Back to it…… My grandad was train crazy, he had a huge train set, set up in a massive shed at the bottom of his garden.
The hours I spent sat on his knee, watching the trains go round and round. Watching the lights in the buildings light up and helping to change the tracks so trains could get to stations or sidings. It was a mini advantage partly in my mind but also in front of my eyes.
The pure excitement I felt, when I knew I could see how the towns and village had changed since the last time I was there. Such joy from the simplest of things.
So I saved and saved to buy my grandad a new train or carriages for his track, and the day finally came when I counted up my penny’s and ran to the toy/model shop to buy, the most important present.

I still remember every feeling, every bit of excitement, every inch of pride I had for myself, for saving up to buy a pressie which would be just from me, that I had paid for with my own money.
The disappointment when I saw how much everything was in the shop, even the tiny little people and trees were more than I could save in a year. I was crushed, I wanted to do this more than anything and within seconds my dream faded away.
The feeling of determination that I would buy him something but what, you needed a bank loan to do this hobby, wow my grandad must be rich.😜
I spent forever looking around the shop, my hand in my Nan’s as tears filled my eyes. A lump in my throat and a pocket full of change. But not a single thing I could afford.
I noticed modelling clay.
I remember the feeling of a smile returning to my face, the sunshine pouring through the window as I jumped up and down, pulling on my Nan’s arm from pure excitement.
Shouting “Grandad can make something for the trains” as I pulled the clay off the shelves.
In those few minutes the world was put to rights.
Such a simple, simple thing had brightened up my whole being, life was once again magical and pure.

I guess that is why flashback Friday’s are important to me, it’s not the day, or even what is written but the feelings, that go with every word that I wrote.
Memories are everything, they are life, love, passion, joy, longing, tears, they are us.


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