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Charity begins at home. So I wish I'd stayed there.
Posted by
MTJAM
,
12 May 2010
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Cotswold towns do not lend themselves to pushchairs; they are filled with picturesque windy paths, cobbled streets and boutiques with narrow doorways and several sets of steps. Since the twins arrived and I was forced to forgo my lightweight Maclaren for a monster triple I have got to know my limitations, and there are several well-worn circuitous paths we follow through town. We can never visit the butcher, for example, or the rather nice delicatessen. We can get in the doctor's, but not the dentist. We can get through the first set of doors at the community centre, but not the second. Out of the half dozen or so places to have tea in town, only one can accommodate us (wide doors, three highchairs, toilet on the ground floor). We are such regulars in this cafe as a result that the manager has not only given us a loyalty card, but recently sought our advice on his new colour scheme.
It’s half past ten and the pygmies are getting fidgety. We’ve already been in the five shops in town we can fit into and I search blindly for inspiration. WHSmith is always a good bet; my children and I spend a disproportionate amount of time browsing their shelves. They have big double doors, wide aisles, they're open on a Sunday, and they sell a reassuring amount of chocolate. It is in fact surprising to discover just how much you can spend in WHSmith, when it's the only store you can easily access. If they'd just branch out into Tampax, I probably wouldn't ever need to go anywhere else. I eye up the door of the new charity shop and calculate we can just fit in. I’m always meaning to start shopping in second-hand shops instead of on-line at Boden. I’m forever reading about the designer bargains to be had in Sue Ryder shops, it’s become really quite cool. Perhaps I’ll start wearing uber-chic vintage dresses over skinny jeans, and be The One People Talk About. Actually, last year I did briefly become The One People Talked About, but that was because the phone had rung while I was putting on my make-up and I’d gone to Bumps & Babes with only one side of my face done; a sort of suburban parody of A Clockwork Orange. My new rock-chick image firmly in mind, I ram the buggy up the steps and through the door-way. And keep ramming.
“Excuse me, madam, I don’t think it will fit”. The volunteer is in her seventies and rather nervous looking. “It’s fine” I say, breezily, “I’m an expert buggy-handler”. Slightly out of breath, I tug one side of the buggy, which seems to have got caught on the door frame. I’m going to need to back out and try again. I confidently lean back on the handles – it won’t budge. We are wedged in the doorway. Two women join the shop assistant peering anxiously over the children, who are somewhat bemused. “Er, we were actually just on our way out” one of them stutters, as I glance behind me to find a queue of people trying to get in. I mean, for goodness sake, since when did the British Heart Foundation become a shopping Mecca? Surely they can’t all be after the uber-cool rock chick look? Not that man in the stained cardigan, anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, thanks to the helpful man at the fridge repair shop, the would-be charity shoppers and several people from a nearby bus queue, the door is removed from its hinges and my buggy freed. I’m desperate to get away from the throng of enquiring shoppers but feel obliged to actually buy something, leaving with twenty quid’s worth of second-hand crap that I didn’t want any more than its previous owners. Oh well, the uber-cool rock chick look was never really me…
Emily Carlisle is a multiple mum living in the Cotswolds. Her blog, More than Just a Motheris a finalist in the ‘funniest blog’ category of the MAD awards
It’s half past ten and the pygmies are getting fidgety. We’ve already been in the five shops in town we can fit into and I search blindly for inspiration. WHSmith is always a good bet; my children and I spend a disproportionate amount of time browsing their shelves. They have big double doors, wide aisles, they're open on a Sunday, and they sell a reassuring amount of chocolate. It is in fact surprising to discover just how much you can spend in WHSmith, when it's the only store you can easily access. If they'd just branch out into Tampax, I probably wouldn't ever need to go anywhere else. I eye up the door of the new charity shop and calculate we can just fit in. I’m always meaning to start shopping in second-hand shops instead of on-line at Boden. I’m forever reading about the designer bargains to be had in Sue Ryder shops, it’s become really quite cool. Perhaps I’ll start wearing uber-chic vintage dresses over skinny jeans, and be The One People Talk About. Actually, last year I did briefly become The One People Talked About, but that was because the phone had rung while I was putting on my make-up and I’d gone to Bumps & Babes with only one side of my face done; a sort of suburban parody of A Clockwork Orange. My new rock-chick image firmly in mind, I ram the buggy up the steps and through the door-way. And keep ramming.
“Excuse me, madam, I don’t think it will fit”. The volunteer is in her seventies and rather nervous looking. “It’s fine” I say, breezily, “I’m an expert buggy-handler”. Slightly out of breath, I tug one side of the buggy, which seems to have got caught on the door frame. I’m going to need to back out and try again. I confidently lean back on the handles – it won’t budge. We are wedged in the doorway. Two women join the shop assistant peering anxiously over the children, who are somewhat bemused. “Er, we were actually just on our way out” one of them stutters, as I glance behind me to find a queue of people trying to get in. I mean, for goodness sake, since when did the British Heart Foundation become a shopping Mecca? Surely they can’t all be after the uber-cool rock chick look? Not that man in the stained cardigan, anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, thanks to the helpful man at the fridge repair shop, the would-be charity shoppers and several people from a nearby bus queue, the door is removed from its hinges and my buggy freed. I’m desperate to get away from the throng of enquiring shoppers but feel obliged to actually buy something, leaving with twenty quid’s worth of second-hand crap that I didn’t want any more than its previous owners. Oh well, the uber-cool rock chick look was never really me…
Emily Carlisle is a multiple mum living in the Cotswolds. Her blog, More than Just a Motheris a finalist in the ‘funniest blog’ category of the MAD awards
