As anyone who has access to a child of primary school age will know, loom bands have hit the high street, seemingly out of nowhere, and are THE craze of the summer. Where they came from I have no idea. I’m sure I could research it, but my time is precious, and quite frankly, is too short to be wasting it on that sort of nonsense. So instead I have allowed them into my life by default with absolutely no inkling as to their origin.
These loom bands, for those of you who are uninitiated into the craze, are tiny little multi-coloured elastic bands which have slight resistance to breaking and come with a loom. This is a long piece of plastic, which looks like a malformed cribbage board, from where the double knit, single knit, wheel of fortune, and all their oddly named friends, are made. My apologies to those who know the actual title of the crochet type banding, but as you may have guessed by now, I have embraced this modus operandi with about as much enthusiasm as a sloth to coffee.
Now I do remember as a child being slightly addicted to French knitting, which, on reflection was about as much use as tying up a goat with a piece of cooked spaghetti, so I understand the craze. Indeed, this is not the first craze son #1 has embraced. We have already experienced the Wii, Fifa 11, 12, 13 etc, Tech Decks and many, many more. And as anyone will attest, childhood crazes are all part and parcel of the package of growing up.
However, my beef with loom bands is specific. I don’t mind the making of the bracelets, anything with a creative outlet is fine by me. I am happy that the loom band craze seems to cross over the sexes, it’s neither for boys or girls, but both it seems, are equally engaged. In fact, I am more than happy that there is an array of colour which bedecks all our arms, courtesy of son #1’s efforts. All these things are in the loom bands favour.
My beef lies in the fact that I now seem to spend half my waking life in the position of a chicken pecking for grains, picking up the snapped, or ‘pinged across the room’, bands which haven’t made it into the final bracelet selection. It is not a look I enjoy sporting, or, indeed one that befits someone such as myself who really should be focussing on the next culinary delight. Cup of tea in hand.
However, to not pick them up would irritate me beyond words, so, for now, you will find me, more often than not, scrambling around on my own floor, picking up rubber.
And just in case you are sat there saying, ‘why don’t you teach son #1 to pick up his own broken bands?’ I do occasionally try out the ‘can you just pick up those bands, darling?’ routine, but by the time I have guided him to where they are, and pointed them out, I might as well have done it myself.
Roll on the next craze.