Remember When: The Ghosts of Christmas Past

It's almost Christmas, and if you're looking for a reason to get all nostalgic and soppy, now is probably the time. I think a combination of putting up the Christmas tree, a recent trip to the John Lewis toy section, and a viewing of Nativity! has got me thinking about my 'Christmas Pasts' this afternoon.

For as long as I can remember, and I remember a lot, I've always loved Christmas. I've never had particularly big Christmases. There's never lots of children running round, and it's usually just me and my parents, splitting my time between my Mum's and my Dad's. Regardless, I can't seem to get enough of the Christmas season.

Christmas 2001 was particularly good. It was the year of the Doll's house. I woke up on Christmas morning and after opening stocking presents, I made my way downstairs to find a note from Father Christmas, telling me that he'd asked my Grandad to make me a Doll's house, as he knew what a fantastic job he'd do. However, I had to go on a hunt for it. I searched all over the house, in the garage outside, I even looked in the car, but nothing. Eight year old me wasn't actually that concerned. After all, Father Christmas had told me I'd find it, and Father Christmas doesn't lie. 

We used to go to my Nan on my Mum's side for Christmas dinner every year. As soon as we arrived there I was straight inside, searching for my Doll's house. Considering she lived in a pretty small bungalow, it didn't take me long to find it. A beautiful victorian style dolls house, it even had the number of my own home on the front. After that, I was set for the day. My dad popped back home to collect some of my Sylvanian Families, and I spent the rest of the afternoon putting together the perfect home for my collection of rabbits, bears and other woodland creatures.

 I think that is probably my favourite Christmas present to date.

Remember When - The Perfect Cookie

Whilst at work today, the subject of cookies arose. Now generally a conversation about food is a good conversation, but start talking about cookies, and I start to get all emotional.

Let's rewind 16 years. I'm sat at the dining room table of a house my mum is cleaning. I used to go with her once a week and I loved it. It was really big, had lots of spare rooms for hiding in and the garden was very Mary Lennox-eqsue. However, this wasn't the main event. No. It was lunchtime when things really got good. Every week I'd unpack my forever friends lunch box (please all remember I was 4, though one would't go amiss right now) and take out the food inside.

There was always a cookie. It wasn't just any cookie, and no it wasn't from M&S it was from Tesco. I've had a lot of cookies in my lifetime, and I can assure you, these were the best ever. They were the perfect balance of doughy and crunchy. The chocolate chips were fantastic and, the best part, they were very big.  From then on, I was hooked. Even over a decade later, every time I bit into the soft dough of a Tesco cookie, I'd be transported back to that dining table.

If you've not tried one, I'd love to buy you one. Sadly I can't do that. Around a year or so ago, the worst happened. They changed the recipe. They no longer take me back to my four year old self. The dough is no longer the perfect softness and the smell doesn't remind me of afternoons spent with my mum.

Of course, when this came up in conversation, I gave them the condensed version. The "Tescos cookies used to be perfect, but then they changed the recipe. It was a sad day." I thought I'd save the heart-wrenching version for here. Because everyone cares about my cookie problems.

Goodbye Tesco cookies. You served me well.

Please note: The above picture is not of the best cookies in the world. They were nice cookies. I made them, but they are no Tesco's cookie.

Remember When

This is not a photo of 10 year old me, but I couldn't find any. So have 4 year old me instead.

This is kind of a different thing for my blog, but the other day my mind decided to recall the day I got my first ever spot. I have a thing about remembering things, and really felt the need to document it somewhere, and where better place than my blog?
So I present to you the first in a series of stories about my life, that no one but me will really care about. Enjoy!

I must have been about 10 and it was a really important day, we were spending they day at school dressing up as Egyptians. When you wake up, excited to spend the day dressed in anything other than your school uniform, the last thing you want is to look in mirror and see something on your face that definitely wasn't there the night before. It was very big, very red, and very much on my chin.

Cue ten year old Fern trying to decided whether to face the embarrassment of asking my mother for help (it seemed embarrassing at the time ok), or to really hope no one had noticed. I went for the first option, and after much prodding, poking and a lot of weird cream stuff, it was pretty much decided that is wasn't' going anywhere.

Now, when you're ten, concealer definitely isn't a thing so I headed off to school dreading the day. Given than I still remember it now, it must have been one of the worse days of that year, surpassed only my one of hamsters dying.

I definitely didn't enjoy being an Egyptian for the day.