CATALOGUE HEAVEN

Summer’s here (isn’t it?) and it’s time for some family home shopping.  Mail order catalogues fly through our letterbox with the frequency and persistence of invitations to Hogwarts for Harry Potter.  There’s one company specialising in bygone objects of elegance and distinction (aka a load of old rubbish) that has doggedly pursued my custom for over 5 years.  What do I need to do to convince them I’m never going to need a bedside lamp base in the shape of a Victorian doll?  Of course to Flo, heaven is a broderie anglaise swathed four poster bed with just such a bedside lamp, but I swear I shall never succumb.  Thinking about it maybe she has struck some kind of deal with the company, confident in her belief that one day her mother will give in.

The great thing about catalogue shopping is that there is something for everyone.  It’s a game that can last for hours.  When the toy catalogue arrives, Flo and Bobby sit united (for once) discussing the pros and cons of each item.  Things they would like for either Christmas or birthdays are circled in different colours.  It is a complicated coding system which needs some concentration, as they both have two coloured pens each and a third pen for items they would quite like but which are not as urgently required as their first choices.  There is much negotiation between them; giant objects like trampolines and extensive playground equipment usually have various crosses and rings on them, signifying several birthday or Christmas points.  We all know that they will never get even half the stuff they choose but this doesn’t seem to bother them.

Clothing catalogues require a less complex approach.  Max likes the clothes that cost the most money.  Bobby likes to draw moustaches on the models, he doesn’t need new clothes as he has drawers full of hand-me-downs.  

Flo looks at the clothes modelled on the prettiest little girls.  I wonder whether she thinks the polka dot leggings will somehow come complete with the exquisite freckles and flowing golden hair seen in the picture.  Shadows of future dissatisfactions flash before me and I long to protect her, but naturally there is nothing to be done.

The Father of the Children adopts a serious approach.  He’ll peruse the whole catalogue giving each section his full attention.  Enough to provoke me to mutter...

“Looking for a bikini to wear this summer?”

Then he sucks in his girth and imagines himself in the Californian-style surf wear that seems to be the thing.  I point at the gorgeous, bronzed Adonis in a Mediterranean-look pink flowery shirt.

“That’s nice,” I sigh.

“It’s a blouse,” he replies, horrified.

Anyone would think he was being asked to dress in velvet and lace, a la Bobby Crush - he is not convinced.  I reply that I have always liked a man in a blouse, thinking wistfully of Saturday’s repeat of Mr Darcy emerging from his stately pond.

Back to reality and, as I have long since given up sucking in anything, I flick through looking for items blessed with elasticated waists.  Finally, we have all found something to buy to wear in the summer holidays.  I ring the company.   It transpires I am the last being on earth to buy from this collection and everything is out of stock.  Flo and I bundle all the catalogues into the bin and head for the shops - which is what we should have done in the first place.

Life in the Slow Lane is written by Clare Kent. She has three children - Max is nearly eleven, Flo is nearly eight and Bobby is six and a half - and lives in Wiltshire.

NEXT INSTALMENT: WEDNESDAY 17 JULY