All Things British- Fancy Dress

For those of you that have been worrying about me, I have survived the woman's version of the man cold. And hear me now-- I will never make fun of my husband's suffering again.

Ok, he's left the room now, so we can really talk.

Here's how it is. When I'm sick, sick enough to go down, it usually means the laundry, the school duties, life will be waiting for me when I get up. And today was no exception.
It looks like the laundry fairy threw up all over my laundry room-- and boy has she eaten a lot in the last few days.

I woke up this morning from my NyQuil-induced coma in a panic. I remembered that yesterday while I was down, I needed to be at Tesco's buying my child things for his Victorian lunch (I'll get back to that). So now I needed to bake. Quick-like. With four mini-beasts circling me all drooling at the smell of food. I baked corn muffins and cake brownies and prayed my head cold wouldn't attack again until after I got the kids off.

Have I ever told you that when we moved here, I felt like I was coming home?
There's a number of reasons I've felt that way, but this time of year I'm reminded of something else.

I grew up LOVING Halloween. Living in a small town, we were safe trick-or-treating into the dark hours, really safe -- some homes actually gave treats like popcorn balls and caramel apples. We carried pillow cases instead of those silly little miniscule buckets and came home with them filled. The best part of Halloween night was coming home with first place of the costume contests. And I usually did. I say usually, because there was a fierce competition going on between my mother and another woman, both seamstresses. One year, my mom got REALLY perturbed with me because I announced to the class that I was going to be a bride. To my mom, it was a betrayal, and that year, I wasn't a bride after all. Despite this sick obsession (that somehow escaped my attention), I love getting dressed up.
When we moved here, you know, moved "home", one thing I was alerted to was the term "fancy dress". We began receiving "fancy dress" party invitations. Halloween or Fancy- I don't care, just give me a costume (me in glitter, soft fabrics, sleeky legs in stilettos= a costume)-- yeah, count me in.
However, I wasn't being invited, my kids were! Like I'm going to rent a tux for J2 to play football in or buy Miss Ky something glittery to get finger paint all over. whatever you crazy people.

A fancy dress party is a costume party. And the Brits like costume parties. I'm in Heaven-- I can buy costumes year round. There's even a special time every year, Book Week, when the kids dress up like their favourite book character. Many birthday parties are themed around pirates or princesses. There's more... like contests for example. Currently being held in the UK is a contest: Dress up like Angus from ACDC and you could win a trip to see the band! (If you're dressing like Angus regularly, you need a free trip to the fashion police station).

So what the heck is this post about anyway?

I'm trying to tell you in my own rambling, I've-had-too-much-NyQuil way, that I love living here. My kids are having some of the greatest opportunities of a lifetime.

J2 left for school today in a victorian get-up and was driven (by coach) with his classmates, to a victorian school where they had lessons, played games and ate their lunches of crusty breads, cheeses and chunks of meat (and a small cake) all wrapped up tidily in a tea towel.

The coach driver asked me, "You're not going?"
"No, I hung around and gave them lots of opportunities to ask me, but they just didn't"
"You have a costume?"
"Of course, doesn't everyone?"

Don't YOU have a tudor costume hanging in your wardrobe?

Well you'd better think of getting one if you intend to visit for any real length of time-- it's not just tea and biscuits over here!