I was recalling the 1960s “rec room” from my early childhood today and feeling a pang of empathy for that small girl, who was so proud of the questionable family touches that I felt sure elevated our home to another plateau of grooviness …

First, there was the purchase of a new Naugahyde couch, (“but what was a Nauga,” I questioned worriedly, picturing an especially funky Leopard, perhaps?) The colour alone - a startling shade of Flaming Apricot - should have been the tip-off here and its slippery, unyielding cushions were as cold and rigid as a cemetery bench. But I loved it nonetheless and any rogue Cheeto dust remained undetected.

‘Artwork’ appeared on the walls next. There was the ubiquitous, almost government-issued pairings of the “The Blue Boy” and “Pinkie” - paintings which I have since learned were done by two different artists but are displayed together in the same museum and therefore linked in our minds. EVERYONE had these. But I have to report that our versions were infinitely superior since they had been reproduced on a fine, satin within a plasticky faux-gilt frame and were slightly padded to lend a convex, pin-cushion effect. I stared at them for hours.

I hinted strongly to my parents that a pair of those sad-eyed girls, always dressed as Harlequins (not the clowns, come on, give a five year old SOME credit!) would be another inspired addition, but sadly, this suggestion was never pursued.

My father’s company often gave a sort of “collectible” gift at Christmas each year and part of this generosity included the Bosson Head series. Very popular at the time, these “heads” occupied a display wall all their own and I was afraid to creep by them to change channels in the dim light as they seemed to be watching me too closely and I was especially concerned that they might speak to me. We had quite a few of the Dickens series (which were not quite as odious) but many of them were, as well as being spectacularly racist … well, check this out:

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Finally, what middle class home of a certain (British) sensibility was complete, without The Three Flying Birds? Ideally mounted to simulate flight on their way up a staircase, the birds were usually ducks and often made of pottery. But ours were even better, being made of (working class!) brass and seemed a more genteel species. The history behind this is interesting and you can read more about this fascinating topic here at an excellent blog I enjoy.

We’ve already established here that I was a weird little kid - but at least I never wanted one of these and knew instinctively, they were UN-cool when I spied them at other people’s homes and often pondered who was actually being fooled about where that damned toilet paper really was … creepy!!!