We’re going ‘out’ ... can we remember how?
Going out is a luxury for mum-of-10 DAWN MILLWARD, especially when the kids are not well
AS we dashed from home for the Christmas lights turn-on, I knew we would miss it and the countdown was audible as we were in Town Hall Yard.
Pete and Minnie were in the warmth of the front room at home, a bug adding to the list of never-ending illnesses since the start of the school year.
Has the festive season now officially begun? According to research, happier people have their Christmas decorations up the earliest.
Simple rows of white lights criss-crossing the town’s street suit the town’s architecture – a definite case of less is more. Removing the multi-coloured Christmas lights could be seen was a gamble – a move away from the expected – but the simplicity of white lights work well with the wall-mounted Christmas trees and lights.
Two little girls never tire of seeing the lights and the trees decorating Ashbourne.
Tiredness, routine, habit, cash, work, time, the everyday, have all become reasons for our social-life abandonment.
Pete and I went to the Thai Basement in Ashbourne in August and were home by 9pm. Years ago we would be venturing out at 9pm, not changing into PJS.
We did spend an afternoon at Uttoxeter races, more by default than by planning. A friend was unable to use the tickets, hence our impromptu appearance.
Illness has made its way through our home and it almost put an end to the day out before it had begun. I don’t like leaving sick children in anyone else’s care. They usually prefer my company, too.
Any parent whose child has a mildly run-of-the-mill type of illness knows how tiring it can be for parent and child. Hence plenty of Disney films, late nights, Calpol and sleep. Fortunately, the majority of illnesses have a short shelf-life.
Minnie didn’t make the Christmas lights switch-on; we were not going to make the races. I think we have simply forgotten how to go out.
By “going out”, I don’t mean for a pint, I don’t mean for a meal, I mean having-a-little-time-during-the-day-sort-of “out”. Date night is a current phrase. A reinvention of an old taken-for-granted part of any long-term relationship.
As a child – a five- or six-yearold – I remember my parents going to a Jazz club in Derby every Thursday. My parents had an active social life not involving either my brother or myself. They did go on holidays together, leaving my grandparents in charge of me, my brother and their off-licence.
We had a family holiday in the summer in a caravan. My dad would look after the shop while we would play on the beach at Sutton on Sea.
The last family holiday I remember is a cruise when I was six. This was the only one we had as a family of four.
All my holidays were with my mum and brother. And I did resent this situation. I couldn’t understand why we were unable to holiday together.
That’s one of my reasons for being inclusive with all our children on holidays, days out, meals out, parties. We have a party, we all turn up. We have breakfast at Beefeaters, we pre-book a table. £18 (I think) will buy breakfast for six. Two under-16s eat free with each adult. This translates to two adults, four children, full English, cereal, fruit, yogurt, pastries, pancakes, crumpets, fruit juice, tea, coffee and bagels, unlimited buffet. I couldn’t buy the food for £18.
Back to the races. Dolly and Minnie now have a cold following the sickness bug. And earache.
Sunday morning – sleeping late, colds, an update from Peter regarding an upcoming interview and the clock’s ticking. It’s a race to make the beds, put a load of washing in, clean school shoes, set out school uniform for the following day, organise reading, organise Teddy for school, shower Dolly and Minnie, breakfast (at home not Beefies), Teddy on kitchen patrol, unstacking and a restacking the dishwasher, a queue for the shower, all add or subtract from the overall time availability. I could be more organised. But I am not. I could have a rota of jobs for the younger ones. I don’t.
Uttoxeter-bound, in time for the first race. A small crowd when compared with the 7,000-plus at the beer festival earlier in the year there.
Uttoxeter is accessible, compact and easily navigated. Food is available, £4 for a pasty, and £5.10 for a pint of cider.
We had a few hours, a nice time. A nice, relaxing time. Perhaps we can still remember how to go out...