Sex and not shopping (okay, mainly not shopping)

Nobody believes me when I say I don’t like shopping.  But seriously, it’s true, I don’t.  Maybe I got it all out of my system when I was consumer editor for City Limits magazine (a bit of an oxymoron, many people thought but, hey, socialists like to shop too, it seems). I mean, I do shop, of course I do – but only when things are absolutely necessary (which, to be frank, isn’t that often).  James grows like a weed and so, yup, he needs gear.  But generally he sends me a link via email and I go ‘yeah, I guess you really do need new trainers if your old ones really are two sizes too small’ or ‘nah, not on your nelly, my little mate’ and it’s all done and dusted in a couple of clicks.

I buy food (reluctantly); I buy petrol (even more reluctantly). I buy a few books for research and, once in a blue moon, I will treat myself to a new CD. And that is it.  Oh no – I did buy a new sports bra about a month ago when the old one wouldn’t take any more darning. And four pairs of socks from Sports Direct to make it up to the ‘no need to pay postage’ limit.

Aha, I hear you thinking (you know I can do this) – she’s only saying this cos she’s stony broke and can’t afford to go shopping.  Well, yeah, I’ll give you the broke bit - but I’m working on that.  J But nah, even if I had the dosh, I still wouldn’t make a hobby out of shopping.

I just don’t get it.  I just can't be arsed. I don’t see anything fun about floating round a bunch of shops gazing at…stuff.  It just doesn’t rock my boat.  And I really hate trying on clothes with a vengeance. Seriously, the last time I went shopping for more than ten minutes was two years ago when I heard I was going to Israel.  I had literally nothing to wear (my wardrobe is far from extensive and, given I live on Exmoor, there really is no need for summer clothes).  

Luckily I had a wodge of vouchers from Next (thanks to you lot) and Monsoon (thanks to friends who’d bought them for a birthday a couple of years previously) and so I did the shopping thing and very tedious it was too.  But…job done.

Now then. If there’s anything worse than shopping it’s shopping with friends.  Why?  WHY? Why on earth would you traipse round shops with other people?  Watching them pick up stuff, trying to adjust your facial features so they don’t guess that you’re wincing inside and then trying to say the right things when they try it on and come out of the changing room expecting a dishonest opinion?  Is it some kind of masochism?  Now you're thinking I'm a bitch, right? But - be honest - you tell me you don't think that?  Truly? 

But there is, deep below that, a further level of hell which is shopping with men.  Actually I do make a bit of an exception here because shopping with gay men (as I recall) can be a hoot.  But, back on the straight and narrow (cos, lamentably, I don’t have gay male friends out here – because any gay men on Exmoor sadly have the sense to stay firmly in their closets) - shopping with boyfriends/partners/husbands????  YE BLOODY GODS.  

Why do women do it? You see them, these benighted blokes, parked outside the changing rooms, or shifting from one foot to the other, tapping listlessly into their smartphones – clearly bored out of their skulls – while their women flick through the rails. WHY?  Is it some power trip (“You will prove your love by enduring… total boredom”)  The modern version of courtly romance, holding hangers at Top Shop rather than poking poles in a jousting tourney?  Some weird kind of branding (“Hey, bitches, he’s mine – look, he even comes shopping with me!”).   Insecurity (“Shit, if I don’t keep him with me at all times, he might cop off with some bird in the hardware shop”)?  Or just general ickyness (“We wuv each uvver so we do evveryfing togevver”)?  Yuck yuck yuckity yuck.  I mean, I'm assuming the women want the men there?  Or do the men secretly enjoy it? 

Nah. I don’t get it. I really, really really don't. Please explain.

Don’t get me wrong. I like nice things. Not as much as I used to but even so… As I prowl round the Internet I see certain things that make me go …oooh, that’s rather pleasing.  But I know myself now.  It’s just a bit of a flirt – it doesn’t mean anything. There's no commitment. So I usually stick it on my Pinterest board – and funnily enough that is kind of enough.  And, here’s the thingy – when I go back and look at that board (every month or so) the things I posted have often lost their allure.  Because, basically, they are just things.  And really there ain’t no thing I really want that much. J

And the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down

Thanks to the lovely Sun (gawd bless ‘er and all who sail in ‘er) we got to go to Alton Towers yesterday (let’s be honest, we couldn’t have afforded to go if we hadn’t had free tickets). Sorry, I’ll rant quickly and get it over with - £38 for an adult??? I suppose it’s justified if you get your money’s worth of being scared out of your wits but it seems steep if all you do is act as a glorified golf trolley. Note to theme parks – how about a subsidised ticket for non-riders? We could have neon brands on our foreheads to show we’re party-poopers and are Not To Be Allowed on Rides...

Anyhow, we picked up James’ friend Nathan at sparrow’s fart and hurtled up the motorway for four hours. Adrian argued that someone had to look after the Soul Puppy and that he would nobly pluck the short straw, eschew the joys of Nemesis and Oblivion, and take the SP to visit Thornbridge Brewery instead. Cue gnashing of teeth (why hadn’t I thought of that?). But hey, I figured that, for once, I could nail this pukka parenting lark. I could give the children a relaxed, calm, fun perfect day. Think about it - with a theme park, someone else has done the organising, no? There is endless entertainment and child-friendly food – no risk of boredom, curled sandwiches or nature raw in tooth and claw biting you on the bum. Seriously, what on earth can go wrong?

Umm, let’s try a thunderstorm. An all-afternoon monsoon with flashing lightning, growling thunder and pathways turned into log flumes. There is clearly some minor deity whose only purpose is to watch me and open the heavens every time I set foot in a theme park. I can still remember Legoland in a downpour, watching the children kicking water at one another while I swabbed mascara from my sodden cheeks.

I wouldn’t mind but I’d been a responsible adult for once, had checked the weather forecast (occasional light showers) and had even Taken Sensible Precautions and packed spare clothes, towels, umbrella. All of which became duly soaked.

Despite it all we had fun. The boys even coerced me onto the Rapids water-ride which was fab. And I dragged them into Hex which is absolutely mind-blowing (you think you’re doing a loop-the-loop while actually barely moving). I liked Alton Towers – more than most UK parks actually. It is well-designed around the park’s beautiful natural assets (lakes, trees, gardens, hills, copses). Food was good too – James and I had really good chicken fajitas while Nathan opted for the all-you-can eat pizza/pasta (£4.25 for kids). My only quibble – we had to sit through lunch twice as we wanted different things – why not go for a USA-style plaza with outlets round the edge and central seating so everyone can pick what they like and all eat together?

But in the last flurry to get onto rides we got seriously soaked. By the time Adrian arrived we were literally drenched to the skin. Luckily he’d been given a T-shirt by Thornbridge so I slipped into that while the boys put on swimming trunks and towels (the only dry bits of kit we had). With one pair of flipflops between them (and James’ bum covered in mud) they looked odd, to say the least, as they hopped (literally) into the service station. I could almost hear the thoughts. ‘Will you look at those boys? She’s got them in swimming trunks and won’t even buy them a pair of flipflops each, for pity’s sake.’



Ah well. We tried.