Diary of A Norfolk Broad - A Disappointing Week

Last week was a disappointing week.  In terms of my favourite week, I have to say, it was probably Greek week, with Spanish Week a close second.  In case you're wondering, I am referring to Lidl and their 'speciality of the week' weeks.  Last week it was Lidl Fashion Week.  Amid much excitement and anticipation at Lidl headquarters I would imagine, Heidi Klum, German supermodel, launched her Lidl Clothing Collection.  It was very disappointing and worse.  I know, I know, what did I expect, you may ask.  In truth, I don't know.  But I do know I didn't like it.  Worse still, when I breezily flicked through the brochure advertising Heidi's wares I was particularly struck by the skinny jeans that three Heidi's were proudly modelling (flawlessly, I might add, photo-shopped together, giving the impression that there were in fact three identical Heidi sisters, if one wasn't bad enough we got three. Three for the price of one perhaps?).  Then I glanced across the page at the details of said skinny jeans.  While the price was more than reasonable, it occurred to me that never in my life will I look like Heidi Klum if I buy her jeans. Even if I bought the size ten. At five feet four inches on a good day, buying these jeans will not make me any taller.  Or skinnier for that matter.  I am not being negative, I am simply a realist.
Then I noticed that these skinny jeans go all the way up to size eighteen.
Surely I don't have to spell it out.
Oh alright then, I will.  If you wear a size eighteen you will not look like Heidi Klum. Unless you are also eighteen feet tall.
If someone was able and clever enough to photo-shop three Heidi's standing side by side, then wouldn't it have been a good idea for them to put all three together and just make one big Heidi modelling the size eighteen?
At least it would have been honest. And we would have all known what to expect when we got home. What could be more disappointing than thinking you are going to look like Heidi Klum in your new Lidl skinny jeans, only to get them home, try them on and make the very shocking discovery that in fact, you are still a size eighteen, you don't look like a supermodel and you've just wasted £14.99.
If I want to feel disappointment on this scale I only have to think of the results of the EU referendum. Or the day Theresa May became the Prime Minister.
I don't want to think of skinny jeans.
Sorry Lidl, in future stick to Greek week.
And Spanish week.
Adios and Kalimera!

The Joys of Motherhood - The World's Gone Mad (or I must be old)

I think the world may have gone mad without telling me.  Never mind Donald Trump becoming President, or Britain voting to leave the EU, those minor hiccups pale by comparison when considering the discovery I made this week. Or should I say, the Supreme discovery I made this week.

If you're over the age of thirteen or under the age of twenty five I expect you are now sniggering at the preposterous old bird nattering on about what you've known about for years - well two to be precise, according to the man who was controlling the queue for those insane or bored enough to want to queue to go into a shop which sells precisely 5 things - this may be a slight exaggeration, but seriously, not so much - trust me, I was there.

My beloved thirteen year old son and I waited patiently in line to be allowed the privilege of entering a very small shop in Soho and spending rather large sums of money on rather small items. I would like to add at this point, it is the ONLY very small understocked shop of it's kind in the UK, and one of only ten in the whole wide world. I have to admire the idea behind the brand, after all, I was one of the idiots watching their life ebb away in the quest for a set of chops sticks. Don't ask.

Ok, ask. But I don't think I have the energy to tell you.  What I will say is that there were a lot of people queuing that day for chop sticks.  The previous day there was a drop.  Don't know what I mean?  Ok, I'll tell you.  It means they had a delivery. Of chop sticks. But Drop sounds more gangster I guess, like something illicit. Like drugs. But certainly not like a delivery of utensils. I had to laugh, my son doesn't even like Chinese food. But that makes me sound old. The point is not to use them, it's to have them, I was informed in a rather superior tone.

There’s not much more I can tell you other than it was an education for me.  I am now painfully familiar with the brand, Supreme.  I say painfully because after standing still in one position for over ninety minutes my legs were killing me.  Like I say, I am probably old, or at least too old to be queuing in Soho for chopsticks.  There wasn’t even a free bowl of chow mein to ease my agony.

However, in the end, in spite of my tortuous but stoic suffering , the look of joy on the face of my almost hyperventilating son on entering the Supreme store was worth it.  For him, it was like entering an Aladdin’s cave of delights, albeit more minimalist. 

And even if I didn’t fully appreciate the significance of this experience at the time, I expect in the future, this, like many of those special moments we share with our children, will be one of those times that will be consigned to the dark creaking recesses of my mind, and every so often dragged out. Probably when I wish to remind him what a truly supreme Mummy I am so that when I am gently urging him(read, nagging him) to tidy his bedroom, pick up his belongings strewn randomly around the house or (god forbid) asking for a bit of help to clean the house, and he looks at me with the same expression of horror that he would have at seeing Brussel sprouts growing out of my eyes, I will be able to say, ‘Remember when I took you to the Supreme store?’ in the hope of  him wishing to return the favour.

And he will reply, ‘No …’

And I will say, ‘That’s the last time I ever stand in a queue for chopsticks with you’.

And he will simply regard me knowingly. Because he knows I mean it.

But only until the next time.

Ahh, the joys of Motherhood …