Nostalgia

This week, thoughts nostalgic have popped in to my head, primarily brought on by one of my many, terrible tragedies that have occurred that I am still recovering from. 

As a child I was raised on a farm surrounded by animals, rabbits, cats, dogs and pigs. I loved them all and sadly probably took them a little for granted, I just assumed they’d always be there. The dogs we had were Pointers, some people refer to them as English but this isn’t actually correct, unlike the English Setter, Shandy, that belonged to my brother, Pointers are just that, Pointers. My father liked to breed them and so we had a mix of colours, liver and white, lemon and white, orange and white and most famously of them all, black and white. I say famously because one of the dogs that stood out most in my mind was Brett, or as his pedigree name stated Blakeshay Avant Tout, which roughly translated I believe means Blakeshay First of All. I could go on about him but I think I’ll save that for another time, the point I want to make is the love of the breed of dog it instilled in me, right up to this very day. So when my parents offered to buy me a Pointer puppy after the sad demise of my Labrador, I of course wanted a black and white one, just like Brett. As it happened that was where the likeness ended, he was rubbish in the show ring, flakier than the chocolate bar and spent more time with the Quack than my mother!

Of course, he got old and the sad day came where he went to the big dog playground in the sky. That Christmas, my parents thought that a soppy looking caricature figurine of a Pointer would be a good present. Of course I loved it, well, when I got to look at it properly through the tears and mascara gummed eyes! Over the last 4 or so years, I have taken great care of this much treasured possession, moving it whenever small clumsy children were about, or a bouncy Harvey, even worse, a bouncy Mr Grumpy! 

Imagine then, if you can, my distress this week when my very large lounge mirror, fell from the wall and smashed on to the rug in front of the fire. Not content with just smashing and making a mess, it broke my beloved Pointer, in fact the only thing left standing without a mark was the bloody £4.99 figurine I got from Sainsburys, and I mean it hadn't budged an inch, not even standing slightly wonkily! I don’t mind admitting I cried, I’m not really sure why, I mean yes I loved it and the nostalgia of the meaning behind it, but it’s not like it was worth millions, I hope! But I do know that they’re impossible to find anywhere on the internet even if I thought about replacing it.

And so this then got me thinking about my jewellery, I don’t have loads, but I do have in safe keeping the Baxter and Bridgefoot jewellery, in order for it to carry on being passed down the line to the females of the paternal side of my family. I also have my Nan’s wedding ring from my mother’s side of the family, the Starrs, not sure who I’d give that to... I digress. I like to think that I keep all these precious things safe, but heaven forbid, what happens if there’s a fire or if I’m burgled? They can never be replaced, so what would have been the point? Would I be better dishing them out to people now to relieve myself of the worry? Or should I sell them and enjoy the cash, let’s face it, someone’s more than likely to do that at some point in the future!

So here I am then, who decided things should be bequeathed? I’m guessing it was someone who didn’t want to run the risk of losing everything that meant something special to them, you can be certain it was someone that had too much money.

I’ll leave you with the wise words of wisdom from my dear father regarding what will be left when he’s gone.....

“You’ll get nothing when I die, I’m not leaving anything for anyone to fight over, anyway, I’d rather we spend it and enjoy it together while I’m alive”

Know what dad? We agree!