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 …

The Thrill of it All

Passing your driving test. There's no better feeling in the world is there! Except, as I discovered, much to my enormous surprise, that there is.

On Tuesday morning as I woke up feeling nervous, I quickly remembered that today was the day.  After months of hard work, the highs, the lows, the good days and bad days, here it was, The Day.  Of course the theory test had proved quite a challenge, and after months of relentless nagging to practice the highway code, but nevertheless leaving it until two days beforehand, in the end that one went off without a hitch, and no 'I told you so's' were necessary, despite much eye-rolling and head-shaking in the days and weeks before.

It all seems surreal now, those hours spent driving to Norwich, around Norwich and then back home from Norwich.  I can only guess at how it felt for I can't know for sure.  The only thing of which I am certain is the pure joy and bursting pride I felt as I opened the front door. And as I did so I looked into the eyes of my son who brandished his certificate emblazoned with the word, 'Pass'.

And there you have it, as great as my own small personal victories have felt, nothing will ever beat the feeling deep in my heart of seeing the victories and achievements of my children -the sense of pride and the thrill of witnessing a milestone in their lives. Yes I was glad when it was me standing on the doorstep with a smile on my face, but seeing the uncontrollable grin on my son's face outshone that feeling in a way I could never imagine.

Who knew ...

Happy New Year

I say it without sarcasm or loaded with hidden meaning.  I say it with absolute conviction.  It is a heartfelt wish to everyone because I think we all need a happy new year.

My apologies to anyone who had a super 2016, abundant with joy and excitement, with nothing to mar their jolly days, but to the other 99% of you, 2016 was a shit load of crap, excuse my French. At this point I must interrupt this broadcast to ponder ... after we leave the EU will the phrase 'Excuse my French' be banned? Will we in fact be forbidden from even uttering anything that smacks of 'them'? Sacre Bleu, I hear you say.  Will baguette become known down the local bakery as 'A long white'? Will spaghetti bolognaise be banned altogether, and as for your morning croissant ... forget it. It's a fry up or nothing.

But let's not dwell on that.  Theresa May won't be hurried, it seems, so I expect we will have plenty of time to work out the important details.

Back to my New Year's greeting to the world. I wish you all Good Health, for without our health, nothing else means much.  Look at George Michael, David Bowie and all the successful and prosperous who popped their clogs last year.  All the money in the world and yet none of them could cheat the hand that fate had dealt them - the drugs probably didn't help either.  So you see, good health must be right up there at the top of our wish list.

Next, I wish you happiness.  What about the money? I hear you mutter, as you look at the first bank statement of the year and it doesn't make for pretty reading.  If I have money then I'll be happy, you say. Wrong!  If money was the key to happiness then why does Victoria Beckham always look as if someone just ate her last cherry tomato. Happiness comes from within darlings.  I'm talking about true happiness.  Think about it.

Last but not least, I do wish you prosperity.  I wish you an abundance of the green stuff.  Not to make you happy, but so that you always have what you need. See previous notes on happiness/ money etc.

That's all I have to say.  Hand on heart, I wish you all good things.  And let's all try to be nice this year.  Let's make time for people, and keep the 'Christmas Spirit' alive all year round.  Life is about to get interesting, to say the least (thank you America and David Cameron), but we must try not to listen so much to the Press, the bloody journalists who distribute misery like sweeties in a playground, to those with an insatiable appetite for their toxic biased so-called news.  Take it with a pinch of salt.  It's their version of the truth, or perhaps not even the truth at all. What I do know is that sometimes we just have to go with the flow, and accept what we cannot change, and as 2017 begins, let's enjoy the journey that life is.

After all, in spite of everything and in the words of Doris, 'Che sera, sera'

The End is Nigh

So, it happened. The thing that nobody thought could happen, not even the people campaigning for it to happen. And yet, a majority voted for it. Makes sense, right? NO! NO! NO!
It makes no sense at all. Or is it me? Am I missing something crucial in this logic?
Let me just clarify this in my mind - LOTS OF THE PEOPLE WHO VOTED TO LEAVE ARE NOW SHOCKED THAT WE ARE GOING TO LEAVE.  In fact, quite a few have even said they're not really sure they actually, deep down, hand on heart honestly wanted to leave.  They just wanted to let David Cameron know they were fed up with him and his nasty austerity measures and the fact that he NEVER EVER LISTENS!  Well, he's listening now.  Only it's too late. Whoops ...
I know I sound a little irked, are you sensing it too?  The truth is, I'm very very sad.  Let me be straight with you; while it's ok being British, I really like the idea of being European.
I like the idea of Tapas and Croissants (well I did before the Atkins Diet anyway), and Schnitzel and Tiramisu, and herring and Dutch Apple Pie ... oh Dutch Apple Pie.  In two years time will we be back to a life of meat and two veg and cheese and pineapple on sticks?  Will the heady days of Lidl's speciality weeks be but a thing of the past? Will we yearn for Polish Week when sausages with unpronouncable names were winking at us tantalisingly from the shelves? Or Spanish week, with an abundance of Jamon Serrano and Manchego Cheese?  Or Greek week?  One of my personal favourites,
It's not looking good, chaps!  While the economy is in a state of flux, and Article 50 of the Lisbon Treaty is bandied about ominously, take the opportunity to consider the real impact of our exit from the EU. And when you've done that, get up to Lidl quick smart, and start stock-piling. 

The Winds of Change

Change is good - apparently.  For me, as much as I like to think of myself as a free spirit, a 'go with the flow' kind of gal, the truth is, I'm not.  I like to know where I am and what I'm doing and when I'll be doing it.  I'd be the first admit it, I'm stuck in a rut, or as I like to think of myself in a more kindly fashion; a creature of habit.  But enough's enough.  I'm bored with my rut.
Is it too late for a New Year's resolution I wonder?  Can I just add to my ever-growing list now, or must I wait until next year to change my ways?  Maybe I can begin this very minute?  And you, the reader, can witness the transformation in front of your very nose (or computer screen)?
Right, here we go.  I will embrace change.  I will take every opportunity that comes my way, wherever it may take me.  I will travel to faraway lands ...starting with Lidl, to buy some Serrano ham on offer this week. Well we all have to start somewhere don't we!

The End is Pie

It seems that our pie supply has run dry.  I'm suffering from Pie Withdrawal symptoms and may need Pie Therapy. If I'd never tried the Steak and Kidney, or the Game Pie, or the Steak and Ale Pie or the Chicken and Mushroom Pie, not only would I be half a stone lighter, but I would never have been seduced by the nectar of the gods, Pie.
The trouble is, once you've tasted Pie, you just want more.  Your appetite becomes insatiable, you have Pie cravings - quite simply, you cannot go on without it.
If you think I'm bonkers then you've never tasted Kews Pies. With their melt in the mouth pastry, the delicious tender pieces of  steak and kidney enveloped in a hearty gravy, the creamy mash and oh my god, did I mention the minty mushy peas? Who needs Mr Grey when I've got Mr Kew? Except I haven't. It's all gone pie the wayside, and pie the way, I'm sure I'm not the only one suffering.  I bet if I started a Pie-tition, never mind reinstating Clarkson, how about reinstating my Pie Shop? Yes. Now there's a thought.