Luck, do not talk to me about luck. I was, without a shadow of a doubt,
the unluckiest child ever. I was so unlucky that I think someone must have
impaled a single magpie to my pram when I was tiny!
From the jam in the doughnut to the GDH fire, my childhood was laced
with disappointment.
Ironically the only time I actually remember feeling disappointed was as
a very small child. I was outside Robinsons with my Granny and my sister and my
Granny had given my sister a bar of chocolate and told me I could not have one
in case it made me sick. I have no knowledge that chocolate ever has or ever
will make me sick. (We don’t talk about the gallstones exorcist incident because
that is unique) I remember a distinct feeling of disappointment on this
day.
My parents tell me that whenever they bought something identical for
myself and my sister, I always got the faulty one. When we both had
identical Barbie ballerinas mine was the one, on opening the box, that was
broken. When we had bubbles from the newsagent, mine was half
empty. When the whole family had doughnuts once, mine had no jam. I remember
these three incidents but not any feelings other than, ah well. (I would have
though “shit happens” but I don’t think the phrase was invented then) I think my parent felt a whole lot worse than me.
I know there were other times this happened but cannot remember
details. My Mum has told me that she even went as far as allocating a toy to me
and a toy to my sister and then swapping to see what happened. You guessed
right...... mine was the faulty one!
The biggest piece of bad luck was the Britain’s farm
incident. I wanted a Britain’s farm yard for my birthday and my
animals needed an upgrade from a cardboard box farm. It was not the expensive
toy of the year but it was what I wanted. GDH, the local toyshop didn’t have
one but happily ordered one to arrive in time for my birthday. Sadly it did not
arrive in time for my birthday at the end of November but did look hopeful for
Christmas. My Dad tells me that he received a card to say the long awaited,
highly desired Britain’s farm base had arrived. Fanfare please, I was actually
going to get the farm for Christmas!
My Dad was going into town on the
Saturday to collect my present from GDH, however, on the Friday night GDH
caught fire and was gutted. My farm was probably a puddle of plastic on the
floor, no longer the amazing toy I was anticipating.
I have no recollection of any feelings of disappointment and would have
enjoyed what I got anyway. I was never a materialistic child and was always happy
making a cardboard box farm base/ dolls house or whatever I wanted.( I once
made a dolls house camper van by tying dolls house bunk beds to a small Fisher
Price van. ) I obviously realised that having my head swayed by luxuries like the
Britain’s farm was totally unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
On my 21st birthday one of my presents from my parents was
the Britain’s farm base. My son (and later my daughter) played happily with it
with the assistance of Mummy.
I would like to say that my luck has improved, and in some ways it has,
but I know that the spectre of disappointment is always lurking nearby waiting
to pounce.
