Noms Blog in a Teacup

Posts from the “childhood” Category

Just rice, right?

Posted on October 10, 2017

There are a multitude of foods that remind me of easier and less stressful days in my life. But there is a dark side to it all and it’s only really just become apparent what that is. My relationship with food is healthy, but for my mum it wasn’t. And all those foods I associate with all my loving and nurturing days in my childhood, were nothing but a crutch. The crutch wasn’t mine though, it was Mum’s. My dad worked away a fair bit through my youngest years. If he wasn’t working, he was playing football, at football training or at the pub. He worked hard, left the house early and went to bed early; like most dads did and still do today.…

Marchelly-with the jelly belly.

Posted on July 4, 2016

While we all meander through our years on this Earth; flicking through our childhood days of laughter and school, then leaping on into our teens with awkward body changes and mind-blowing thoughts, it’s not long before we are lobbed smack bang into our twenties where we generally find our soulmates and settle down into ‘our’ life. You quickly hit your thirties and you just expect to keep pushing on, growing wrinkles and grey hair, parenting a bunch of kids, or watching nieces and nephews grow up before your eyes,  and then grandkids come along and the rest is history. This is what we all expect. This is what doesn’t always happen…

Dolls, Clowns and Freddie.

Posted on March 7, 2015

I’ve watched countless horror movies in my life. I grew up in the television glow of Fright Night, Thriller, the Twighlight Zone series, Nightmare on Elm St, the American Werewolf In London, the evil clown in IT and that crazy arse creepy fuck Chuckie. The eighties saw a plethora of horror flicks made and I watched all of them, seemingly fairly unfazed by the exposure. The nineties introduced the world to Interview With a Vampire, Alien, Silence of the Lambs, Candy Man and the Blair Witch. All a very differnt type of horror, the horror I knew was changing. But it was brilliant. The thriller horror grabbed you by your knackers and sat you in your seat. My bestie and I spent many Friday and…

Towel & Trough

Posted on March 6, 2015

I’ve been living out of home now for 20 years. I moved out of the family nest at 18 into a house I shared with a girlfriend. Since then most of the bath towels in our home are ones I moved out with. Folding them this morning, I realise I’ve turned into my Grandmother. Long threads hanging from the guts of some towels, seams ripped up the sides and hanging in loops along the edge on others. Worn towels, stained and faded towels with a handful of new ones. Fuck, am I really that tight? Just buy some new ones Nom, for fucks sake! I’m reminded of the towels in the bathroom linen at my Grandparents when I was a child. So thin and…

Dog Turds and Shortbread

Posted on March 1, 2015

The G Mart, my 85-year-old granny, worked all of her life in the local hospitals kitchen from the tender age of fifteen. Countless early mornings for 60 odd years she walked to and from work, enduring hours of cooking, peeling vegetables, carving meat, plating it all up and then the cleaning. She loved her job and only retired when they forced her to. She sat in the industrial sink on her last day while they doused her in flour, the cheesiest grin on a little old woman you’re ever likely to see. I’m not even sure Gran is five foot. She has a tiny little body of probably less than 40 kilos wringing wet! Short pearl white hair, that’s freshly set every Friday. Daily…

Washing

Posted on February 18, 2015

Folding the washing today, I couldn’t help but think about how easy it is now. I detest the fuck out of it, but it’s easy. Collecting the dirty washing is the chore for me now. Always a never-ending supply of it. It’s in the bathroom, in the bedrooms, pushed down the back of the lounge suite, screwed up in a corner, left lying around over a chair or outside where the boys took it off. It never ends, and then there’s the missing socks… where the fuck do they go? We wear them, chuck them in the basket, they go into a washing machine, then a dryer maybe or onto the line and then wallah! One of the fuckers is GONE! Kill me now.…

Pancakes

Posted on February 17, 2015

Being as it was Shrove Tuesday yesterday I thought I would blog about pancakes. To most they’re just pancakes. A sweet, sticky, fluffy disc of love. I love em! Actually, I really fucking love em! I love everything about them. The high they give you. The sheer delight it brings those around me eating them. Their taste. Their texture. To other people they’re a sweet treat, dessert or a special breakfast. But, to me they are the ultimate symbol of Christmas Day. Weird? Fuck yes, I know, but I love it. Christmas Day as a kid was always spent in two places. Usually a hot lunch with Mum’s side at the G Marts (AKA Granny Mart) in Rainbow, followed by a more relaxed tea at…