In my quest to adopt the teachings on Ina into day to day living, I approached my trip to Cheshire Oaks as a chance to shop for everyone not just me. A pre Christmas shopping trip, a chance to buy quality items at reduced prices. Firstly, I was gutted Cath Kidston was a no show. Wrong outlet. Le Creuset had RSVP’d and was one of the first shops I came across. It was a struggle. They had everything that I would love. But just one problem- it’s not cheap enough. I would have saved, but not enough for my intrinsic caution to be thrown to the wind. I realistically am too cheap to spend £70 plus on a pot. It’s just not a necessity. And I have pots, so I did the sensible thing and walked away. I was worried I was going to head back for a long time, especially after a couple of hours all I had to show for it was a top for £12 from All Saints and a whisk.
But we paused for refuelling. A TGI Fridays burger and diet coke later, plus the sighting of a fat woman drawing hard on a fag and studying the menu, I assume just to find the most cholesterol laden dish to help on her quest to a hip replacement sooner, and MC and I resumed our shopping trip. A purchase for my Brother’s Christmas present happened, as did a purchase of a woollen hat I had eyed up in Fat Face last year, but which was never cheap enough in my opinion. I was starting to find my stride.
Then it got genius. Now, all day long Cheshire Oaks appeared to be the gift that keeps on giving. Firstly, the man in a wheel chair whose legs appeared to be made from oblong pillows or stuffed sheets. It was like a moving talking flesh covered Penny For a Guy. The ends were poking out, not prosthetic but stuffed cylindrical fabric. Odd. Then was the most unpleasant sales woman. I thought she said a higher price than my items. She snapped that I was wrong, and repeated the correct price. I paid, she literally chucked the receipts in the direction of the bad, through more luck than judgement she got them in. She shouted for the next customer. It was rudeness meets ignorance meets total weirdness. I pissed myself laughing at her melodrama, and announced that I thought she was so very bloody mardy. That went down like a fart in a lift. I could see the glare from the corner of my eye, I could feel the coldness across the shop. Thank god it’s not local.
Dune then provided the holy Grail. Shoes. High top trainers to be precise, and horrible looking ones. Honestly, they look wrong on a shelf. You’d dismiss them out of hand. I did the same. As did MC. I tried them on though, and they just work. They look fantastic. Off, nope, on, yep. I don’t get it either, but I had to have them. So I did.
Then on to Levi’s for a mooch. They had No Doubt on the stereo, a greatest hits. It was a tonic to hear vintage Gwen. Songs from the Clueless Soundtrack meeting songs from about 8 years ago. Loved it. Added to the ambiance as I tried on jeans that were a 30″ waist. Love that. Been a 32″ for as long as I can remember. £10 for jeans. Had to be done. Eventually picked up a copy of the CD from a discount store in the centre.
Did you know that No Doubt sang a song called Trapped in a box? No? It’s bollocks. It went on for about five minutes about someone trapped in a box. It’s shit. Don’t bother. But loved the cd otherwise. It took us on home at the end of the day, which was a relatively short journey, none of those dragging malarky, we were home before we knew it. Lazy night, pasta for tea and The X Factor and Ugly Betty. The X Factor was made for Sky Plus. A programme that’s an hour and a half long is actually doable in 40 minutes. I don’t care about much of it. I didn’t want to see them dance. I don’t care to hear a lot of people saying shot about this can change my life blah blah blah. No shit Sherlock. Right now you work in a Costa part time, this is the chance to sing on a telly programme. It’s of course a change,I unless you are presently on Must Be The Music, how could it be anything but? It’s TV by numbers, a lot of it.
Anyway, I’m tired and grumpy. I miss Pete loads. I hate being home without him, it’s like part of me is somewhere else. It’s like I’m here but the bit that makes being here fun is in another house somewhere. I didn’t sleep very well last night as he wasn’t here. Tonight I’m wearing his pyjamas and am on his side of the bed, I’m hoping that might make it easier, but its just crap when he isn’t around, it just feels wrong. God, I’d be a rubbish army wife. I’m too needy. But he has been here nearly every night since I met him,and every night I have slept in this house. I associate him with this bed and going to sleep. If I’m grumpy Monday morning it will all be his fault!
– Posted using BlogPress from my iPad