Samantha, Samantha, Samantha. Nope, dear reader, not Cameron. Brick. Samantha…
yes that is me in the glasses second from left
I often see meme’s or linkys for blog posts and think “I have nothing to contribute to that” or don’t have time to delve in to the dark recesses of my memory to write a post. And then every now and again one comes along that I think “oh yes” and it sparks a ten minute day dream back.
That happened this week with Helen’s request for people to talk about their memories of Sunday lunch and it instantly took me right back to Sunday lunch growing up.
I don’t remember the specifics of the food (though I know there were often seven different veg. My mum was big on veg) but I do remember the sounds around it. Bizarrely. The sounds are what evoke the strongest memories for me. Even now sounds are the biggest trigger for memories.
Hearing my dad sharpening the carving knife on a steel. That swoosh. Without fail. Every week. That indicated that dinner was about fifteen minutes away.
Potato being mashed meant it was about ten minutes away. There was a particular thump thump bash about they way my mum mashed potato. A real rhythm to it. (She’ll be reading this going “what?”)
And without fail Jimmy Saville was on in the background on the radio. I used to try and play along with the song titles when he would joke about brackets. “Open brackets I can’t get no closed brackets Satisfaction”. News of Jimmy Saville’s death reminded me of Sunday lunch (that looks really odd written down)
Damn, I have a real craving for roast beef and Yorkshire pudding now.