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22nd December 2011Earlier in the year I blogged about the many weird and wonderful gifts my mom used to present me with at Christmas.
While she got me some stonkingly good gifts, over the years she also wrapped up some imaginative offerings.
This piece is written with all the love and affection I can muster for someone who tried so hard to make our busy and unconventional Vicarage Christmases a warm and happy time. And however much I raise my eyebrows at some of the things she came up with - I'd do anything to have a knitted Womble hot water bottle cover and miners lamp under my tree this year. It's 10 years since we last celebrated Christmas together and I miss her enormously.
These are just a few of my favourites:
Christmas 1994: When I was a student in Sheffield, wearing ripped jeans, Doc Martins and an old Granddad cardigan, she bought me a Delux Scuffguard. It’s a piece of shag pile carpet with rubber backing, to put under the pedals of your car so you don’t scuff the heels of your stilettos whilst driving. I think I can safely say that mine was the only Vauxhall Chevette (1979) in the land with such luxury. Though I was tempted to cut the thing up and stick it down the sides of the windows to stop them falling down into the car door every time I went over a bump, which would have been a much more practical application at that juncture.
Christmas 1995: Still under the impression that stilettos were my footwear of choice, she bought me a pair of bronzed scrunchies – fancy shoe accessories that you clip onto the front of your stilettos to turn them into party shoes.
Christmas 1996: Because I had a degree and PhD in Zoology, mom went through a phase of buying animal themed presents. This year it was a tea towel with different breeds of dogs on.
Christmas 1997: Still plumbing a rich vein – a plastic apron with different breeds of dogs on.
Christmas 1998: Now this one is a personal favorite. It was a plastic paperweight with two dead dung beetles inside, posing on a bit of green.
Christmas 1999: A second hand Ladyshave which came in a flat, round pink plastic box, the size of a discus. It opened just like a clam - inside was the Ladyshave. I found the switch and turned it on - nothing. I needed another source of power. Unfortunately it was of European origin with a plug which wouldn’t fit UK sockets, so I investigated further, turning it around in my hands to see if I could locate where the batteries went. I found a little door in the side which looked promising and pried it open with a nail file. Inside, I didn’t find batteries, instead I found the hair shavings of the previous owner. As I jumped back in horror, little black flecks showered me like confetti. There was so much I concluded that my new ‘European’ Ladyshave must have been pre-owned by an Eastern European shot-putter who had burnt out its motor while preparing her bikini line for a week on the beach. Unsurprisingly I did feel able to get rid of this present (immediately)!
Christmas 2000: Millennium year was a special year and so deserved a special gift which could be kept and cherished. It was a Peterborough Cathedral, bone china, special edition Millennium pill box.
Christmas 2001: Do you know, I can’t remember what she got me that year, which breaks my heart because it was the last Christmas we had with her. It must have been something sensible that I needed. Maybe the present was us all being together and having her with us for one last Christmas.
