So, further evidence today that A continues in her steadfast quest to be her own person, rather than a (not-so) mini version of her mother. It seems that the older she gets, the more she looks like me, the less she acts like me. This is, of course, fine. I was never much like my Mum - I look a little like her, but our personalities were worlds apart in the way that C and I inhabit utterly different personality planets. I can cope with him not liking the things I like; in fact generally outright rejecting things I like, because he's a thick-haired blond introverted boy. I don't expect him to be like me, because he isn't like me. However, I think I have an almost unconcious expectation that A, who is a wispy brunette with brown eyes, a long body and an extrovert nature, to re-live my life for me, but do things just a little bit better than I did them. I am conciously aware that this is not a very healthy expectation, for either of us.
This was underlined today during CITV's rather brilliant Old Skool weekend. My objections to this wonderful idea are minimal, and I shall get these out of the way first. Firstly, the fact that it's only a weekend. I think a whole week, nay month, of this nostalgia fest would have been preferable. Secondly, tomorrow there is an episode of My Parents Are Aliens from 2005 being shown as part of the weekend. 2005 is not Old Skool. Children born in 2005 are now 7. That's barely even Skool, let alone Old Skool. Thirdly, there is not nearly enough Knightmare. In fact, a solid month of back-to-back Knightmare would have been fantastic. Especially the group that were on today, whom A pointed out had "eerily good manners" and seemed to be from the 1950s (two of them were called Barry and Derek).
Anyway, to the point. I ensured that I recorded the episode of Puddle Lane that was on this morning. I LOVED Puddle Lane. I blame Puddle Lane for my obsession with books, and also for my deep love for fonts. I loved the guy putting his finger in the puddle (I can assure you the programme was not obscene despite how that sentence reads) and the story magically appearing on-screen. I loved the barely-literate dragon thing. And the talking cauldron. What's not to love? But most of all, I LOVED the book. There's an enormous, beautiful leather-bound red book, that contains all of the stories which are produced by the magic puddle. All of the stories on beautiful thick, cream paper, and written in a font that still makes me sigh for the beauty of perfectly formed, perfect primary-school-teacher-esque letters.
I think that, for years, I have been searching in vain for a book that could replace that book in my heart. A font that I could love as much as I loved the Puddle Lane font. It struck a chord somewhere very deep within when I saw it today. As this emotional moment unfolded within the very core of my being, A murmured "This programme's really boring - can we play Fruit Ninja on your Windows Surface?" I managed to avoid weeping. And I am going to take this as a salutory lesson. Your daughter, Mrs M, prefers hacking pieces of pixelated fruit apart on a small screen, to drinking in the beauty of the Puddle Lane book. She may never follow in your footsteps. But she will save a LOT of money in Book People bills...
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