Easter Weekend

As a child Easter meant a trip to Yorkshire, to see Grandparents, packed into the back of our Volvo with my two sisters, Dad driving through the night and carrying us into the house in the early hours of the morning. It meant a service on Good Friday, usually outside in the Cattle Market/Auction Mart. On other days the yard would be full of farm trucks and land rovers, animals being loaded and unloaded by farmers in green wellies and tweed jackets, the air thick with the sound (and smell) of dozens and dozens of sheep and cows, the auctioneer's voice raised above the general melee. Yet on Good Friday the only sounds were the voices of 30 or so villagers singing hymns and the preacher's voice against the quiet air, punctuated only by the occasional wheeling cry of a curlew, the yard quiet in contemplation and prayer, faces lifted to the warmth of the spring sun. Saturday morning was always spent at the church, helping Granny construct the miniature Easter garden, complete with a large stone rolled away and real flowers hidden in tiny glass vases behind stones and moss, which would then be blessed by the vicar at the Sunday morning service, prior to the Easter Egg hunt in the church garden.

This year was supposed to follow suit only illness put a stop to it and so we found ourselves at my parent's house instead. It didn't really feel like Easter at all, with it being so early in the year and being in Berkshire and neither of my sisters being present. While we used the opportunity to catch up with other friends and see, for the first time ever at Easter, my other grandparents, I felt rather nostalgic for the security of the familiarity of childhood.

16 or 26?

My body and mind are a little confused this week. A weekend involving a gymnastics class, watching some unsigned bands and attending an RN cadet event? Those were favoured past times of my sixteen year old self. So it was with some nostalgia that I met up with an old CCF friend whose URNU ship was moored alongside HMS President for the weekend on Saturday evening, joining the crew for scran which turned out to be spaghetti bolognese and discovering I had not lost the old art of sitting in a group of people I did not know, eating slightly bland food whilst the ship rolled and elbows banged and the noise level rose.

It was with more nervousness than nostalgia when I started my first gymnastics class in 10 years on Sunday afternoon. Despite being incredibly out of shape my body remembered all the moves (even if I am incapable of executing them presently) and I soon reverted to the discipline of a 2 hour advanced class. My muscles the next morning are a different story though as I can feel every single last one of them, long forgotten and protesting at their spring reawakening. Gymnastics class over I hurried to MacDonald's for a quick calorie level and salt upper before heading to watch a friend's band play a battle of the band style competition. My nostalgia returned more sharply than before as I remembered gigs where I would stand uncomfortably (my boyfriend being the bassist of a long forgotten band) watching the set and trying to look 'cool'. These days I care much less whether I fit in aesthetically, my emphasis being on individual style and, dare I say it, comfort. I had also forgotten my make-up bag so I was bare-faced in light blue skinny jeans, white converse, a cotton top/dress my sister brought back from Thailand and a cardigan. Not a drop of black in sight. Although I stood out rather from the rock/indie/metal-goers my 26 year old self didn't even worry about it. That I was also able to consume beer without worrying about ID no doubt helped ease the situation.

So, from one extreme to the other. My 16 year old past-times relived 10 years on, interspersed with my normal 26 year old activities. A dinner with friends on Friday evening followed by a prolonged poker game. Retiring to bed as it got light knowing my days of staying up all night and carrying straight on with the next day are long since over. Housework, laundry, cleaning, tidying, eating lunch complete with chutney I made myself. A visit to the Tate Gallery (members bar for lunch, followed by exhibitions). Walking along the South Bank. Getting up for work.