We shopped till we dropped ... the cake
Retailwasn’t best form of therapy
cream, mousse, sponge and berries. At the checkout, I instructed Mary Portas to lift the cake from the trolley. Sadly, the feel gype used only one hand, which succeeded in executing a perfect, 180 degree flip of my cake, ensuring the strawberries and cream splattered, face down, across the wires, sponge akimbo. For what seemed like ages, we stood WE’VE been promised
an “urban village” on the site of the Broadford Works for nearly 20 years. Over and over again, it’s hit by firebugs as it crumbles into disrepair. Surely it’s long before time that the owner, oil tycoon Ian Suttie, told the council what his plans are. Or will the site fester on?
IWAS fair ower the moon when my EE revealed the House of Fraser is returning to Aberdeen. I’ve been lost without it. Many’s the HoF wedding outfit I bought and I don’t mind admitting I’ve wowed many a pairty in one of its sparkly tops. So for a decade of special occasions, I’ve been struggling. Whatever’s the opposite of shopaholic, that’s me. I abhor traipsing around malls. I detest trying on stuff when even the fitting rooms are too little for me. I much prefer going heidie doon into a catalogue. Up until a few weeks ago, I’d set foot in Union Square only twice. However, all that changed when my quine started maternity leave and she became my retail therapist, dragging me round every shop from Stoney to Clatt. But the sessions with my very own Mary Portas haven’t come easy. On our way to Union Square last week, sez me (trying to show off) to her: “I believe there’s a Tex Mex here. Is it any good?” She to me: “Don’t know where you mean. Didn’t know you liked Mexican food.” Silence from both. Me affa at a loss but afraid to say why. Suddenly, my quine: “Mum, please don’t tell me you mean TK Maxx.” That was it! The next day, in brilliant sunshine, I grabbed my new, prescription sunglasses and we sped off for a browsie round Raemoir Garden Centre. Once inside, she to me: “Take off those sunspecs.” Me: “I can’t. I left my normal ones at home and I need these for walking about.” Slow output of frustrated breath by my side, then the hiss: “For goodnesssss ssssakesss. You look like some celeb trying not to get recognised.” Tough. However, she’s not the shopping guru she thinks she is. Picture the scene at Costco last Friday when she was helping load up goodies for my weekend faimily gairden pairty. (Posho? Moi?) My piece de fine piece was a huge strawberry “bavois” – an explosion of motionless, staring at my ex-bavois – as if it would suddenly loup up and mend itself. I then uttered some words of loving appreciation to my child while the charming, albeit amused, Cosco wifies cleaned up the wreckage and presented me with a replacement. Thanks girls. So now it’s proved. My kid really can shop till she drops.
FANCY SPLAT: The posh strawberry cake took at a tumble during a trip to Costco.