Years ago it was embarrassing to say you still lived at home when you were in your 20s.
These days it has changed so much, and many people still live with their parents.
Some are in their 40s and still under their mums and dads’ feet, but it doesn’t seem a big deal nowadays.
There are many reasons for it – the cost of houses is one of the biggest factors, and high rents and low salaries.
In my opinion, a lot of people don’t want to go because they have their comforts all around them.
In many cases they are spoilt rotten and pampered.
Some of them pay housekeeping but, while they think it does, that covers nothing.
Most of them have no idea of the costs of products – toilet rolls, soap, bleach, washing powder – the list is endless.
I’ve always said that bringing a form of National Service back would teach people values.
Camaraderie, how to look after themselves, how to watch each other’s backs, respect, good manners, cleanliness and let’s not forget – ironing.
Everything can be done with self-discipline.
Having said all that, as a teenager I had sleepless nights worrying about being called up for National Service.
I just missed it, 1963 was when it stopped.
My problem was the uniforms and socks, I couldn’t stand wool next to my skin.
I had it made at home, I did pay housekeeping, and most of the telephone bill.
Looking back the money I paid covered nothing.
I did wake up one day and think: “I must leave home.”
This was for two reasons – my independence, and mum was not well and I didn’t want to live there if I lost her, the memories would be too painful.
So I got my own place, she wasn’t very happy at all.
Of course I still took my washing home, and had tea with her at least twice a week.
That saved a few bob.
One of the things I missed most, apart from being woken up with a smile and a cup of tea, was the shop that we lived above.
It was a corner shop in West Kirby, by the Crosville bus depot, and it’s no longer there.
Next to our shop was a chippy, then Frank Biggerstaff’s paper shop.
Across the road from us, the bakery, the butchers and the pet shop.
Mum’s shop was an old-fashioned Chandlers.
It was an Aladdin’s cave of candles, dolly dyes, nails, sandpaper, light bulbs, firelighters, teacups – the list was endless.
The unique smells of all the products blended together, with paraffin and Aunt Sally.
It was an aroma like none other.
Our biggest headache was stock-taking day, it took forever.
When mum passed away I kept the shop on for a while, before I sold it.
Someone converted it into a house and all the other shops around eventually changed.
We lost a wonderful focal point for all the residents in the area to gather and shop.
Then people discovered supermarkets, which sold everything under one roof.
That was the death knell for the small shops in this country.
I always loved living in West Kirby, and if I wasn’t as happy where I am now, I would move back in a heartbeat.
I’ve just heard my mum’s shop might be coming up on the
market, and I am so tempted to buy it back.
I think my mum paid £3,000 for it, I should imagine it will now go for more than £200,000.
The problem is, if I bought it, what would I do with it?
The biggest drawback for me is the front door opens directly onto the pavement.
The idea of someone knocking at the window shouting: “Pricey, you lizard, are you in?” puts me off.
But I would love to own it again, to be near my roots.
What should I do?
