Blimey, it’s busy

It’s been a tricky old weekend one way and another.  Not a terrible, ‘Oh my God, Never let me have another weekend  like that’, kind of tricky, just very busy, very taxing on the brain, frustrating and infuriating.

Rather than set off into a whinge fest I’m going to gloss over it all and move on.

Well, didn’t Scotty of the snack bar do well with his impromptu fundraiser last Sunday?  When I popped in for my usual jacket potato with tuna mayo the other day there was a sign up saying they’d raised a total of £410.40. Wow, isn’t that brilliant!! If everyone did that then little Madison would be in Germany having her treatment in no time at all.

Ok, it’s official. I’ am no longer a Primark virgin.  I’ve been watching with amusement and amazement at the uproar that the opening of a cheap clothes shop has caused in nearby Bigtown. Every time I’ve been in to town there have been people scuttling round with their tell tale brown paper carrier bags.  Last Thursday, in the absence of a dance lesson, I went to have a look at what all the fuss is about.

Well, it’s oooooooo      kkkkkkkkkkk  I suppose. There are some nice pieces of costume jewellery and it is undoubtedly cheap.  If I had young children or follwed fashion to the laetter and was in my 20’s then I’d probably be in their all the time for a cheap clothes fix. Cheap though is definitely the operative word. I ‘invested’ in two vest tops at £1.50 each thinking that you can’t go wrong with vest tops.  You can, you know.  While I was in the shop scrutinising them I thought they looked a bit small so I got a size 18 that’s a full two sizes too big.

Then I got them home and tried them on. Well. Talk about clingy!

Not only were they ridiculously clingy, they were down right tight, I could hardly breath in the damn things! They were long, though, I think I’ll give them to C to use as a dress.

Don’t think I’ll be dashing back to Primark any time soon. My Mum would have liked it: they had the nylon, elasticated waist trousers with the slight sparkle to the fabric that she used to favour.   Static electricity, here I come! Yeeeeuch!

Bizarrely enough they have put a very nice coffee shop right next to chav central  er… I mean Primark. What you don’t spend on clothes you can spend on stupidly overpriced coffee served by barista’s with bright smiiles and a chirpy manner, yeah, yeah, that’s only because it’s a novelty. Give ’em six months and they’ll have lost all that chirpiness when yet another born and bred lancastrian asks for a Laaaaaarrrrtttay in estuary English. Tsk. Television has a lot to answer for.

Of course we had to try it out. C had an iced laaaaaartay, oops sorry, latte, and I had a Sicilian lemonade which basically a lemon syrup slush puppy, both teeth rottingly sweet and lip puckeringly sour at the same time. Better add lip smackingly good to that because once I’d got used to the sweet, sour and cold, it was really rather nice and very refreshing. Baby E thought so as well.

Making it very clear that she thought my drink looked so much more interesting than hers, I obliged by letting her have a slurp. At the first taste she made the same face as I did when I first tried it – and then she went in for a bigger slurp, took too much at once and gave herself brain freeze.  I know it’s not funny that the baby had brain freeze and and that she shouldn’t  be drinking sweet drinks in any case…but it really was. I’m just a terrible grandmother!

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