It struck me (and I know many people would like to) that you may be wondering what this 'nostalgedy' nonsense is all about? This is intended to be a bit of an explanation.
I think the best thing I can do is to quote from some of the reviews I've been very lucky to receive. For example, Gingerlily from Ireland put it like this:
"Its the same formula of gently amusing stories picking fun at everybody, but most of all the author himself... Its all very likeable and appealing stuff and very easy to read. Philip has this knack for finding the amusing in everyday things. As with the first one, it can be enjoyed with you feet up and a nice pot of tea and biscuits."
and Alina from Australia says:
"One of the strengths of this book is that you feel like you're sitting around the pub talking chite with an old friend as Phil reminds you of how absurd much of your babyboomer childhood and adolescence was."
In other words, I spend my time going over some of the embarrassing moments from my past in the hope that people might find this amusing, and they seem to! The beauty of this is that incidents that may have been the cause of sharp words and tension at the time can, with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, be converted into light-hearted stories. Things such as this:
"Dad insisted on providing the turkey for this feast, which
was something of a concern because Dad disliked doing anything in a
conventional manner. If he bought
anything, it was always through ‘someone who knows someone’ who could allegedly
get it cheaper, bigger or faster, or all three.
This sort of arrangement tended to lead to considerable uncertainty,
which was not conducive to the peace of mind of my aunt and uncle, who were
great ones for doing things properly.
Thus the scene was set for potential disaster.
As the days before Christmas gradually diminished, my aunt
made repeated requests to know what size of bird to expect, but was always
fobbed off by Dad, who probably didn’t know the answer himself. Christmas Eve arrived and, as good as his
word, Dad delivered a fresh turkey, albeit rather late in the day. However, in a fit of generosity, probably
brought on by the fact that Christmas Eve was Dad’s birthday, which he did like
to celebrate, he had bought something that resembled a young ostrich. My aunt had a relatively small kitchen and
there really wasn’t enough room in there for her and this bird. The problem was compounded on Christmas
Morning, when, having prepared this avian monster for the oven (a not
inconsiderable feat) it became apparent that it would not fit into the oven. Only
savage butchery reduced the beast to portions that could realistically be
prised in. Even then, the sheer size of
the fowl led to the generation of so much fat that the kitchen looked like the
morning after a riot in a chip shop. The
whole thing took much longer to cook than normal and the eventual result,
despite my aunt’s acknowledged culinary skills, was not up to her high
standards. She was left quivering on the
edge of either murdering my Dad or having a nervous breakdown, whichever was
the easier. Typically, Dad couldn’t see
what all the fuss was about and was somewhat miffed not to be the hero of the
hour." (extract taken from Crutches for Ducks)
Or this gardening incident:
"I remember one night of shame,
way back in the 1970s, when he and I had called in at the pub on our way home
from work and spent a little longer there than was really sensible. It
was a warm summer's night and still quite light when we got home. Mum had
been nagging dad for some time to weed the top patch of ground so that she
could plant out some seedlings she had been nurturing. As we made our way
down the entry to our house, dad said we should get on and do that now, as it
would be a nice surprise for her. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the
time, as these things do when you have had far too much to drink and not enough
to eat. We set to, removing all the bits of greenery in this patch by
hand. It took quite a while, but we felt vindicated when we looked at the
fruits of our labours, a nicely cleared patch of ground and a pile of green
spindly shoots. I'm sure you've probably guessed by now that mum had
spent the whole day weeding that patch and planting out her seedlings.
You may also have guessed that we were not very popular for some time after
that, although dad took most of the heat as he should have been able to spot
the difference between seedlings and weeds, whereas my ignorance in that area
was widely known." (extract taken from A Kick at the Pantry Door)
I suspect the key to it is that we've all (or most of us) done something just as silly at one time or another, and it's quite fun to be able to laugh at someone else's shortcomings.
