After work yesterday, I headed off into town to do 'jobs'. Now as we ladies know, this can cover anything from popping into the supermarket through to stocking up on lipstick. In my case, I had three things to do:
Drop long boots into the menders for re-heeling
Cancel hair appointment
Now the boots are a sore point. At the end of April, when they are normally packed away, I vow that next year, I will have them re-heeled by the time I want to start wearing them again at the end of September (or August if it's been a bad summer). Every single year in the seven I have owned them, I have finally got round to having them re-heeled in December. This would be after I have performed several pirouettes on wet pavements courtesy of the lack of rubber (ever the safety girl). So now I am without my boots for at least three days. It would have been less, but the mender (I can't use the word cobbler) is closed today. My town must be the only one in the UK which still operates Wednesday closing. Correct me if I'm wrong...
Next was the hair appointment. Total senior moment on this one, I can tell you. Standing in Reception, the exquisitely groomed receptionist stared patiently at me as I rifled through my bag, looking for an appointment card. 'Can you remember which day it was?' she asked. 'That might help'. (Unnecessary sarcasm, I thought). Well no, I couldn't remember the day. All I could remember was that it was either Thursday Friday or Saturday, and was with one of three stylists. She ran her pencil down the screen, looking for my appointment. 'Do you go under any other name?' she asked. Well as I am not a psychopath or into fraud, surprisingly I have never felt the need to give a pseudonym to the hairdresser. I conveyed all this in one of my 'don't mess with mum, she's got that look in her eyes' stares, which seemed to do the trick, as the Receptionist suddenly said, 'Found you. You are with us again next week, not this week'. Ah. This was my cue to mutter an apology, and reverse out of the door, just as she was saying 'Did you still want that appointment?' I'll call them later in the week, when hopefully a different receptionist will be on duty.
So to the last job. Son number two and ELL are rather partial to toast in the morning before work, and I noticed this morning that we'd run out. Stopping at Greggs on the way back to the car, I thought I'd buy a couple of sliced bloomers, which are his favourite. I was standing behind two lads, fresh out of the local secondary school who were taking their time looking at cakes. 'Are you queuing, or can't you decide what you want?' I asked with a smile. 'He hasn't got a clue', said the taller one gesticulating at his friend who was tossing up between an iced Belgian and a doughnut. He stepped up to the counter. 'Large La ey please'. It took me several seconds to work out he meant latte, and the lady behind the counter raised her eyes at me as we shared a moment over the boy's interesting use of the English language.
It was then my turn. 'Just the two large bloomers please'. I said. Smiling, she took them from me, and popped them into a carrier.
Handing them over to me, she put out her hand and said 'That's two paand ey ee'.
Oh dear lord...