May babies, the tradition of leaving the housework alone and bless your tiny silver bullets

On doing a bit of early morning research today, I discovered that babies who are born in May are thought to be unlucky because the faeries find them so attractive that they steal them and leave a faerie baby in their place. Now, I know a few people who were born in May - Andy, for example, and my Auntie Pollie. And Andy's best man at our wedding, Richard. And Andy's nephew. (Also, my brother's wife was born in May and the sooner the faeries come and take her away the better, but that's another story and now I am thinking mean thoughts I shan't bother to get a lottery ticket this weekend because karma will prevent me from winning. Ah well).

Apparently, the parents of May babies have to be particularly vigilant to prevent this faerie exchange from happening. The next time I speak to Andy's parents I must remember to quiz them about this just to make sure I haven't married an ethereal being. (Although this would explain the faraway absences and lapses of concentration he experiences - oh no, that'll be the Game Boy I got him for his birthday, stupid me.)

Also, you musn't wash yourself or clean your house in May because it is supposed to wash life and luck away during the month. There's even a rhyme to prove the point. It goes:

You must not wash your blankets in May
Or else you'll wash your soul away.

You're supposed to avoid eating wild garlic, too. Well, I've managed to abide by one of those rules this month so maybe I've got a bit of luck left. And I'm still alive. At least I think I am.

Tomorrow is even more exciting. Depending on where you live, the twenty-ninth day of May is known as either Oak Apple Day, Arbor Tree Day, Pinch-Bum Day or, get this, Shit-Shack Day. Most of these are tied to the Civil War between the Roundheads and Cavaliers. They knew how to have fun in those days, didn't they?

I am particularly looking forward to Saturday as it is St Hubert's Day. I must remember to get my silver bullets blessed by him or they will be completely ineffective in dealing with any passing werewolves.

It's odd, isn't it, how superstitions, myths and eccentricities have survived as part of this country's traditions. I wonder how our lifetime will be remembered in two hundred years' time?

'In the 21st century, May became known as Opportunist MP Month. Parliamentary representatives would hold a competition to see who could extort the highest amount of tax payers' money in the form of expenses claims. The more outrageous the better. The winner would receive an ornamental duck house. '

Or...

'In the last week of May, ordinary members of the public were encouraged to stand on a platform in front of a crowd of people and display their talents, real or imagined. The more dubious the talent, the further the participant would progress in the race to be the next Prime Minister of the Country.'

Even...

'May Fifteenth - Pete'n'Jordan Day. The traditional day for celebrities to announce the end of their shallow fatuous marriages to other celebrities in a last ditch attempt to revive their flagging careers. The ritual must be performed in the pink sequinned glare of publicity from the beaches of Barbados whilst dressed in impossible tiny swimwear. Mascara smudging optional.'

I feel a bit sad that modern day Britain seems devoid of any cultural heritage for future generations to enjoy. I'm trying to do my bit on a domestic level. For example, a couple of years ago I purchased a ridiculously large and highly colourful plate that has now become the 'Birthday Cake Presentation Plate.' I don't know if such a plate is entitled to become a family heirloom, but I think it could become a tradition. Tradition is good. It makes you feel safe, and part of a community. I think I shall declare May twenty-eighth as 'Start Your Own Family Tradition' Day.

And here is a rhyme in celebration:

'Make sure you aren't forgotten
In centuries to come.
Start your own tradition
It could serious, it could be fun
Make sure you do it every year
On Family Tradition Day
And that way when you're dead and gone-
'I remember her,' they'll say.

Or him, if you're a bloke. Or it, if you're a table or other such inanimate object.

It might catch on. Even if it doesn't, at least you can say you tried.

(Today's blog was brought to you today, with sincere apologies, from Taken-Leave-Of-Her-Senses Denise, sponsored by the Useless Thought Company, for all your Pointless Rambling Needs.)