When the saints come marching in

Life is full of experiences and the new ones can't always compare to the old ones.

The carnival was perhaps one of the best things about coming back to the village where I lived so many of my years. It was an old experience. One of those precious ones.

As I arrived at a friend's house for the second leg of my moving houses until I finished work, 30 people were dressed in costumes and wigs. The front door was open and overflowing with people as though it was a can of beans. But the little chatter, excitement and mass of colour took me back to some place special.

It turned back the clock. Took away all the nastiness, the privatisation of individual lives and angry mob of technology. And it brought back family time, picnics, horse and carts but most importantly a massive expression of character. 

It was the latter that's my favourite. And as I sat on the lawn waiting for girls and boys adorned in colourful 'cartoon' outfits, a boy told his friend: "we're from Old Basing. Mighty, mighty Old Basing." It wasn't so much that we were mighty in the sense that we had some grand influence within the UK but we had, for one day a year, a colourful union of people who came together in hoards in the sun. And that was a very powerful statement. 

It was a shame that I couldn't be with mum and dad and my brothers on this day, but, as though in their memory, I sat on the grass banks I used to remember, and watched the parade come to me. 

Old memories are great. And then a new experience hit me: I found it slightly strange to be peeing in a port-a-loo. It wasn't for the sweltering heat but the fact that I had never actually used one. When I told myself, I found that prospect weird. Not that it should be but I had just never had an excuse to use such a toilet. And for certain I wasn't  imagining it to feel like I was riding in a car: gear stick and everything at my side. 

A port-a-loo. How novel! It took me somewhere else. I felt truly rounded by the experience. Merging old and new: how exciting! 

Losing my senses

You play those games as children, unbeknownst to how topically relevant some of them are. We can exclude 'Dizzy Dinosaurs' and 'Hop-scotch'. But the others; 'Stuck in the mud' - a game of helping your friends in distress before the catcher (or what we can interpret in the adult world as grief or pain or stress). 'It' or 'tag' - being the it-girl or it-guy. And 'kiss-chase' - trying to attract the best looking person of the opposite sex and pursuing them as they run away. Our childhoods taught us so much, if only we knew at the time.

And then there are those eager questions that children ask. I don;t know if it was the same for you, but my brothers and I used to always ask one another, as though we'd be caught out by some form of government torturer for one heinous crime or another;

What would be the sense that you'd most hate to lose?

It was always a hard one for me. I essentially had to choose the sense I loved the most. A a big foodie, I couldn't live without being able to taste but would taste have been a good compromise when I couldn't hear my child talk to me? Tell me about their first day at school? Hear them sing in the Nativity?

But my sense of taste always frustrated me. When I had a cold and I knew the feelings and smells and tastes that should be running down my throat and I registered nothing. I hated it. Chicken kievs should ooze garlic. There should be sweet melodies to the zingy jig of a glass of lemonade. And when I'd saved a perfect square of meat to fit into a small off-cut of yorkshire pudding that I'd specifically left until last so savor the dinner - I wanted to make sure I knew what it was like.

But in the end I put it down to this.

Over the years, I've developed a passion for vintage EVERYTHING! Clothes, make-up, past times. Nothing makes me happier than to thing of myself of an evening eating oranges and sucking the juice to the pith and being in the corner of the living room in a one-person armchair reading. 'Matilda' first put that thought into my head.

When I was younger I always fancied myself as a whizz kid. I didn't like reading much only doing so to say that I'd turned the pages. I would sit in class after lunch break and read the end words of every sentence. I was flipping pages in books faster than anyone else. I loved playing on my Nintendo and I guess that was because I hadn't yet found the unlocking power of writing. Or because it took too long to create the image of my perfect family when 'The SIMS' did it far quicker.

But eventually, as I matured, I turned back - quite literally!

And so, it came as a little surprise to find that old movies didn't always have that riveting affect on me.

Take 'Charlie and the chocolate factory' for instance. The super-tanned Oompa Loompa's and the wild-eyed (and haired) Willy Wonka would have, in the real world, made the chocolate factory seem a place of wonder and awe. But the hues of the picture; the dulled purples and greens and reds, they just didn't cut it and I found myself turning to Johnny Depp instead.

When I asked for the new 'Alice in Wonderland' on DVD one Christmas, you cuold have been fooled into thinking that I was in love with Johnny Depp. The truth was more abstract; I was in love with the colour.  The vibrant make-up and costumes, they all struck me.

And so, without thinking, I'd have to say that the sense that I'd most hate to lose would be my sight.

The IKEA Haul

As University draws nearer and nearer, enlarging on the horizon, nerves are a reoccurring sensation.

But as every little thing I do to prepare sets in, nothing has hit me more than packing up my whole room and coordinating colours for my new one in University - a space that's going to be considerably smaller and will house my entire world for the year.  

This afternoon we took to IKEA - of course. (Who doesn't end up in IKEA when furnishing their home?) 

We went at 5:30pm - bad choice. If you're familiar with Dubai you'll know how lively the country becomes at night. It's almost part of the culture. No one really goes out until the sun sets. There's no worse place to be on a late weekend afternoon than IKEA. There are literally hundreds of couples and families browsing every section of the store. Finding what you need with a supermarket trolley is easier said than done. 

Nevertheless, 2 hours after we arrived, we'd bought most of the essentials; knives, scissors, a chopping board, a laundry basket, cutlery. Most things. 

It's amazing how much fun choosing essentials can be. 

I've decided upon a red and white theme for the bathroom - a colour scheme I've always always loved. I feel like a new home owner. I don't feel old enough to get picky over the colours in a bathroom!

While I'm an advocate of cheapness, I really enjoy choosing old fashioned and vintage decorations. 

This clock (though you can't see very well) is an original style clock - with two bells on top and a metal ringer to wake me up in the morning. 

So, it's fair to say that I'm really really happy with the afternoon's work - walking round with my little list whilst piling various items into the trolley, then removing them after having looked at the price! 

It's weird how by putting myself right in the centre of it all, I've taken the edge off my nerves!