Somewhere I have a photograph of a Hoover I remember my mother having in the first house I can recall waking up in, though there was a previous abode I've absolutely no memory of, where said dust-sucking implement could also have resided. The photo was taken in the second previous house to my current one, which will confuse you if you're not a regular reader of this blog. You see, my family first took up residence here in 1972 and moved elsewhere in 1983. However, just over 4 years later, we moved back again, meaning we lived in one house before moving in here the first time, and another house before moving back again in 1987. I forget where the photo is, but when I find it I'll add it to the post.
The Hoover made it back here with us, meaning that it's been in every house I remember, but it didn't get to stay for long. I no longer recall whether it was days, weeks, or a couple of months, but my mother bought a new vacuum cleaner and 'old faithful', who I'd known from my infancy to adulthood, was put out in the back garden next to the rubbish bin, for disposal when the refuse collectors (that's bin men, Melvin) came to collect our garbage. This was more than half my lifetime away, back in the day when households had only one bin, and before we had to take out our own trash and do the council's job for them.
I find myself missing this Hoover from time-to-time. I wish I still had it because I have many happy memories of reading comics on the settee when I was a kid, and having to lift my feet as my mother vacuumed under my legs and around me. In fact, I miss every item of furniture we ever had and that I no longer own, and if I could, I'd buy replacements for every last stick of it and quite easily allow myself to believe that they're the original pieces from my childhood and teenage years. To be able to live here with all the furniture and fittings that we brought with us back in 1972 (most of them dating from the late '50s and early '60s, thereby reflecting earlier houses too), well, that's my idea of Utopia.
So, fellow Crivvies - what's yours?
But before you tell me (if you do), here's another part of the story. In the back garden of the second 'previous' residence, my father had a greenhouse. At some stage my mother bought a new ironing board, the old one, same as the Hoover, having been with us from at least the '60s. My father requisitioned it for his greenhouse and laid out boxes of tomato plants on top of it, but when we moved back here, he left it where it was. After a couple of weeks back in our old home, I started to feel a bit guilty about its abandonment so went back to the house we'd flitted from and offered the guy with whom we'd swapped a couple of quid for it. He was perfectly agreeable as he had no need for it, so a fortnight or so after our flit, the old ironing board also made it back to be reunited with its 'comrades'.
Why was it so important to me? Well, I've always been in the habit of carefully ironing my comics if there's even a hint of a creased or curved corner or spine, and over the years it had been done on that very ironing board, so I couldn't just walk away from it. It hasn't been used in decades now (since that day my mother got a new one in fact), but it's stored in my shed and hopefully isn't too warped or decayed in the less-than-desirable conditions of its acrylic container in the back garden. Maybe one day I'll clean it up and start using it again, but even if I don't, it's nice to know that it's still there and can be 'pressed' into service if required. (Yes, that was a deliberate ironing pun.)
Anyway, while you reel in shock at my obvious insanity, I'll retire for the moment before you start demanding that someone signs the papers for my committal. No point in giving anyone even more ammunition. Blurble!
However, I have to ask - has there ever been something you left somewhere that you went back for - or didn't, but now wish you had? If so, spill the Heinz 57 in the comments section.