An old companion
I don't smoke. I never have - unless you count a sly Consulate in the cinema , the only place I could safely come home from reeking of smoke. And yet when it came to taking things to keep from my mother's house when the time came to sell it, this ashtray was one item I was sure I wanted.
I have to say that neither of my parents smoked, but their friends did - though I never saw anyone put ash in this ashtray. I didn't even think of it as an ashtray when I was a child; it was the neat little cockateel sitting pertly on its globe that I liked. (Did you know that "cockateel", which is my preferred spelling, is said to be an archaic form of "cockatiel"?) It had always sat right in the middle of my mother's shiny round coffee table, and I was never allowed to pick it up because it's alabaster, and heavy. I had a look at it tonight when I was taking the photo, and there's a heavy metal screw right through the bottom centre up into the ball and - presumably - the bird.
I have a feeling it may have been a wedding present to my parents, which will make it rather older than me - so it's maybe 80ish. And the reason I'm blipping this today is that I've been indoors feeling poorly with this wretched cold that was kindly gifted to at least three of us who attended a meeting 10 days ago with the original plague-bearer. Not a good idea to take a ripe cold to a room-full of old people - which I realise with horror means me.
Normal service will, I hope, be resumed shortly.