The Bakers That Used To Be Broomfields

My mum's telling us about her visit to the bakers "that used to be Broomfields". None of us know what it's called now.

"So they had two tills at opposite ends of the shop and I went to the till where the batons were and another woman walks in the shop. The assistant goes to serve her from the other till. As I was first in the shop, the other customer kindly lets me go first."

MUM: Can I have two batons, please?

SHOP ASSISTANT: DON'T DO BATONS!

MUM: Well, can I have two small French sticks, please?

SHOP ASSISTANT: DON'T DO FRENCH STICKS!

MUM: (Pointing to the batons/small French sticks) Well, what do you call these?

SHOP ASSISTANT: STICKS!

Crocs Away!

Elton John dies and David Furnish prays to God. You see, Elton had a pair of green crocs that were his pride and joy, but when his left leg was lost in the accident the left croc went with it.

So David has one croc to treasure forever. If only he had both!

David prays to God and asks him if he could point him in the direction of the missing leg and croc. God says he can, but as God likes to see men suffer he asks David the following:-

GOD: David...who is your favourite dead film star?

DAVID: Why, Rock Hudson. He was absolutely gorgeous.

GOD: What would you say to a five minute telephone conversation with Rock Hudson?

DAVID: I'd do anything for that. But he's dead!

GOD: I can arrange it, David. I have his number.

DAVID: Yes, then. Yes, please.

GOD: Only one thing, David. If I give you Mr Hudson's number, I will not tell you where the missing croc is located.

DAVID: Why not, God?

GOD: Because that's the way I am.

DAVID: So I have a choice?

GOD: The choice is yours.

David's brow is furrowed.

DAVID: Can I have some time to think it over?

GOD: I want an answer now, David. Come on! Elton John's croc, or dial Rock?

Norfolk and Northern Folk

So it's Monday and Norfolk seems like another country, another century. Today's the day (hopefully) we get our Mac up and running and on the internet and the future will no longer be dimly Orange.

Our holiday snaps will be along later in the week. We sampled all that Norfolk had to offer except for a trip on the Broads. I just didn't fancy piloting a boat after all that driving.

Over the two weeks we watched the end of the second series and the whole of the third series of The Wire. It's still classic television, though the third series was sexed up considerably. It was as though the actors had told the producers, "What's the use in me going to the gym for four hours each day if you're not going to show my lovely body in all its glory?" So the producers capitulated and we got a sculpted chest and clenched arse fest.

My reading matter was Pies and Prejudice: In Search of the North by BBC stalwart Stuart Maconie. I'm supposed to like Stuart, he's a decent bloke and he has marvellously catholic music tastes, and I do like him but he don't half get on my nerves, too. Like that dick Robert Elms, he's always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, whether it's the Northern Soul explosion, the Punk explosion, the Chicago House explosion or the Madchester explosion. But then, as he says, he does have marvellously catholic tastes.

In this book, a lot of the time he's confusing being "Northern" with being working class, (e.g. the word "dinner" to describe the midday meal as opposed to the middle class evening meal). This gets even my upper working class privileged Southern jessy hackles rising. His prejudice against southerners I can't really take seriously as it seems to be a prejudice against his BBC middle class mates. No wonder he lives in the West Midlands! He must hate his poncey London-based working life. He says near the end that there are many northerners who are not typical northerners and are twats and many southerners who act all northern like and aren't twats. I think I'm likely to be one of those untypical southerners. Will you be my mate, Stuart?

The digital radio I bought before we went away turned out to be a waste of money - BBC6 Music and 1Xtra are far too worthy and boring. We listened to Radio 1 in the car, usually untypical northerner Sara Cox (because we didn't get up in time to listen to untypical northerner Chris Moyles), and in the cottage we had on East Anglia's Kiss. At least Kiss played some decent music, even if their playlist only consisted of twenty tunes. At the weekend we listened to Kiss in the car as anything, and I mean anything is better than that untypical northerner Vernon Kay.

Classified Results

Klaxons 8, Winehouse 1

Fresh, exciting new sounds from South East London versus derivative Radio 2 approved cod soul from North London.

Saxondale 1, Gavin & Stacey 8

Steve Coogan is Steve Coogan (as always) in shoddy "comedy" with no laughs versus well-written, funny, touching romcom. Both Baby Cow productions.

Bluewater 0, Lakeside 0

Shite shopping mall versus shite shopping mall.

Pardew 4, Curbishley 7

Tony Blair style bullshit versus Gordon Brown style "does what it says on the tin".

Sopranos 10, The Wire 10

Genius versus genius.

Work 3, Jury Service 1

Boredom versus extreme boredom.

Led Zep Live 1969 7, The Who Live 1970 4

Overblown yet entertaining blues rockers versus past it, going through the motions show offs.


Back on 24th September, hopefully with a new home internet connection.

See you then.

Very Flat, Norfolk

It's no good. I can't get away from him. This morning I sat on the other side of the carriage. He sat next to me. Suicide seems the only option.

I went to John Lewis at Bluewater on Sunday to pick up my new macbook. Bluewater: what a shithole. One episode of the BBC4 documentary series The Secret Life of the Motorway, featured a long-distance lorry driver who, for relaxation at weekends, drives his wife hundreds of miles so she can do her shopping at shitholes like Bluewater all over the country. He sits outside the shops and reads. He finds it relaxing. They say there are more out than in.

I think I prefer shopping at Argos than John Lewis. There are hundreds of baby buggies at John Lewis. And customer collections takes an age. I was told my mac would be 15 minutes so I spent some time in the wanky hi-tech Apple shop, listening to an assistant saying "Apple just lurve university students" to a university student. I got back at John Lewis within the 15 minutes. Twenty minutes later, after several enquiries, I finally collected my mac. Apparently, they'd already called my name. Even though I was told to go away for 15 minutes. "Never knowingly undersold" should be augmented by "patience is a virtue".

We're off to Norfolk on Saturday for two weeks: another complete break from the internet. Honestly, the lengths we take to get away from our blogging compadres! The question is, will there be enough for us to do in Norfolk for two weeks? Once we've visited the Mustard Museum and paid homage to the Anglia tv knight on horse statue, what else is there to do?

I think I'm getting a bit nutty in my middle age. I mean, Norfolk! I ask you!