My memories of Saturday mornings are filled with skipping hand in hand with my Dad through the shopping mall and running together up the down escalators.
My Mum worked Saturday mornings, so Dad I would sneak out the house avoiding our congealing breakfast and descend upon his friend’s coffee shop – Stephanie’s. Stephanie was a force of nature. We would inevitably be joined by throngs of my father’s journalist friends and I’d eat meringues and cream while listening to their gossip.
Of course, we would visit my father’s favourite shoe shops and no Saturday morning would be complete without looking at about 100 pairs of khaki trousers, of which my father was a connoisseur. They all looked the same to me.
Some nights, he’d arrive home when I was already in bed and wake me up with a Archie comic and a chocolate bar, which we’d eat in blissful secret.
My mother trained as a librarian and regarded comic books with utter scorn, so my secret stash of Archie and Veronica was hidden in the back of my closet.
The best times were when he’d come home early on a Friday night and spirit me away to pancakes and hot chocolate.
These nights would always necessitate a visit to the late night book store – a treasure trove of mystery and adventure.
This Saturday my family endured a hard day’s work of enforced DIY. Just an aside, cottage panes look really pretty when someone else has to put in the glass.
Miss Diva helped cook lunch, clean the kitchen and roll window putty into little sausages.
The boys miraculously disappeared as soon as work was mentioned and remained unseen for the better part of the day.
So, when everyone else was distracted she and I hopped in the car and drove into the exquisite sunset.
We browsed around Exclusive Books in quiet contentment and then took our prizes to the Green Peppercorn for chocolate pancakes and chilli ice-cream.
We came home with the Collected Sherlock Holmes, Gerald Durrell’s Corfu Trilogy, Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats containing our favourite Macavity the Mystery Cat and a sticker book.
I hope when she grows up she’ll remember these little escapes to book stores and ice-cream parlours the way I do.
A little stolen luxury for just the two of us.
Those are really very precious memories. I enjoyed the journey into your childhood. Thank you for sharing.
Visiting from A to Z Blogging~
Mary
http://www.maryeagius.com
Thanks Mary.
Exclusive Books! I had so forgotten that – open late, and with their coffee shop – I just suddenly zoomed off to Hyde Park in memory, wow. Not to mention the comic-exchange shops. I haven’t SEEN a comic since I reached the UK. I absolutely do not count the Beano.
I’m so glad I’m following you 🙂
Thank you so much. Yes, it was always that one. I suppose no-one reads comic anymore – it’s all graphic novels now. Not the same.
This post made me smile. Such sweet memories. 🙂
Shirletta @ Shirleyisnotmyname
I’m glad you smiled!
Such wonderful memories of your childhood! Thanks for sharing them with us!
Thank you!
This is so sweet, lovely, and wonderfully written. My curiosity asks, have you gone madly running up the down escalator lately?
Not as lately as I should have. I think I will have to do it soon.
What great memories:) I had a stash of Archie comic books too…
They were awesome!
Sweet post. Stolen moments stay with us forevr! 🙂
Thank you. They really do.
That sounds so nice. But didn’t your mother ever notice the congealed breakfast? Or did you get home in time to put it in the garbage? Nice that you’re carrying the tradition of stolen saturdays on.
The offending breakfast would end up in the belly of an overweight labrador named Tessa. Sometimes, she’d join us on our excursions too!
Sounds like you all had a plan!
Had to. Scrambled egg made at 06:30am turns into something quite vile by 09:30am. It was make a plan or die.
Memories Sigh! 🙂
Grist for the mill!
How fun to run up the escalator with your dad … while Mom was busy.
Memories like these stick with us forever, don’t they?
Lovely post.
Silvia @ Silvia Writes
Thanks, yes they do. There was something wild and forbidden about it. They were the best times.
What a sweet post 🙂 Those secret, stolen moments make the best memories. I remember my dad, who worked a late shift at a factory, letting me watch old B horror movies with him when he got home, and waking up the next morning in my bed, knowing he’d carried me there after I fell asleep with him on the couch. I don’t remember the movies, just the time alone together, just the two of us.
Happy Blogging!
Kaye Draper at Write Me
Dads make some of the best memories. Thanks for visiting.
This sounds so lovely!
Funny, today Paul was looking at 100 khaki trousers. And yes. They did all look the same.
Men can see the differences that escape the female eye.
Evidently. Or else it is all a worldwide masculine plot to mess with our heads.
That would not surprise me in the slightest.