CIGARETTE BREAK
Day Nine.
I don't smoke.
I have never smoked.
But I have a strange fondness for old fag packets. In particular ones that don't really exist any more.
When I was a wee young thing I used to have quite a lot to do with tramps.
No really I did.
Smelly old drunk men who lived in a hostel in what is now prime property territory in Guildford.
It was the mid 70's I was about 6 or 7.
My Mum was the social worker for the hostel, she had to drop by every Saturday morning to check up on them all.
Players weights and Woodbines were an important currency.
She went while I was lumbering about at the back of my ballet class like a fairy elephant.
When it was over I would walk up to meet her.
And so I was well known to all the tramps of my home town.
When taken in to town by the parents of friends they would look on in horror when smelly old rough sleepers would shout out "Hello princess" and I was skip over and start chatting away.
I can only imagine now the cold sweat that must have brought them out in and how much worse it must have got when they confided what had happened to my Mum and she would say "Oh yes they all know who Jane is."
Anyway the point of this ramble is to explain why I have a gathering of ancient old ciggie packets.
Before this morning it was a single example that had the intention of becoming a collection.
This morning the Players packet shouted out my name as I walked up the hill from school drop off past the conveniently placed junk shop.
So now I have a proto collection or gathering with a double intention of becoming a collection proper.
These things find me I never go looking, they just want me to look after them and make a cosy home for their friends who will come a calling before too long.
Such is my lot in life, I like to think of it as a much needed service for the unwanted and unloved objects in our lives.
The Hippy thinks it's a load of old junk that clutters up the house and has no use.
What does he know?
He collects hammers and boxes of rusty nails.
Love Nora xxx
I don't smoke.
I have never smoked.
But I have a strange fondness for old fag packets. In particular ones that don't really exist any more.
When I was a wee young thing I used to have quite a lot to do with tramps.
No really I did.
Smelly old drunk men who lived in a hostel in what is now prime property territory in Guildford.
It was the mid 70's I was about 6 or 7.
My Mum was the social worker for the hostel, she had to drop by every Saturday morning to check up on them all.
Players weights and Woodbines were an important currency.
She went while I was lumbering about at the back of my ballet class like a fairy elephant.
When it was over I would walk up to meet her.
And so I was well known to all the tramps of my home town.
When taken in to town by the parents of friends they would look on in horror when smelly old rough sleepers would shout out "Hello princess" and I was skip over and start chatting away.
I can only imagine now the cold sweat that must have brought them out in and how much worse it must have got when they confided what had happened to my Mum and she would say "Oh yes they all know who Jane is."
Anyway the point of this ramble is to explain why I have a gathering of ancient old ciggie packets.
Before this morning it was a single example that had the intention of becoming a collection.
This morning the Players packet shouted out my name as I walked up the hill from school drop off past the conveniently placed junk shop.
So now I have a proto collection or gathering with a double intention of becoming a collection proper.
These things find me I never go looking, they just want me to look after them and make a cosy home for their friends who will come a calling before too long.
Such is my lot in life, I like to think of it as a much needed service for the unwanted and unloved objects in our lives.
The Hippy thinks it's a load of old junk that clutters up the house and has no use.
What does he know?
He collects hammers and boxes of rusty nails.
Love Nora xxx
I can't keep up with all your posting these days my friend! Rather proud of you as my place is silent. Of course I don't think anyone wants to read about my dental surgery yesterday! Love the cig packs and I understand completely. Show the Mr. an old battered hand plane and he's all over it like a rabid dog, but should I come home with a trinket he gets all righteous and minimalist!
ReplyDeleteCame to you via Frances and like what I read but am rather daunted by all your posts! I am struggling to post every couple of weeks but determined not to stop after nearly seven years of posting, though it is all rather a squeeze just now! But every day? I might just have to crawl away in despair at not making the grade. And totally yes to the rather endearing male double standards. My husband has a workshop and a barn and a study straining at the seams, is quiet at the purchase of new books or yarn (doesn't notice perhaps?) but fell out with me over buying a new knife....Loved your energy and enthusiasm about the workshop. Isn't it wonderful to take on something new?
ReplyDeleteOh, this is very good, to arrive at the comment box and see that lovely Elizabeth's comment just above the box..
ReplyDeleteI have not forgotten about the spools of thread offer. I will need to find your your mailing address, and whether you have a particular favorite amongst the thread colors. With all the clothes that I made for myself Back in the Day, as They Say, I have quite a rainbow of shades available.
But enough about me and spools. I wanted to let you know how much I liked reading about tramps and cigarettes and your childhood.
xo
So glad you haven't b*****ed off to instagram... as for hammers, perhaps they will come in useful one day? all 30 of them! xx
ReplyDeleteI have an ancient old tin of 100 Russian cigarettes - neatly packed in in little rows - opened but never used.
ReplyDelete