Bag snobbery

I am showing tendencies of developing a honed sense of BBS (British Bag Snobbery).

Let me explain.

Early in 2006, I noticed a culturally comic item in British society. Because people actually walk in this country, there is the need to carry more than perhaps only a credit card and a tube of lipstick. Therefore, a cute tiny purse just doesn't cut it. And a backpack just shows a little too much trekking attitude.

So, even if you don't carry a backpack, you still need a bag for all your stuff (if it is from a shop, it is called a 'carrier bag', funnily enough. Although, really, why do you need the adjective? Would you get confused and try to make a sail out of it -- a 'sailor bag'? Or make a hat out of it -- a 'hatter bag'? But I digress; this is a mockery for another day.). Of course, people do carry non-plastic bags as well; I suppose these are just called 'bags'. I carry stuff in a non-plastic bag. Stuff you might carry in your 'carrier bag' include: lunch, your work shoes, your knitting, a scarf, hat and gloves. You might even like a large enough one to put your stupid purse/handbag in, which holds your single credit card and lipstick because you are too vain to not carry it.

However, many British people do try to show how posh they are by the type of carrier bag that they carry. People carrying a Harrod's green plastic bag in Cardiff or Norwich have not just come from buying some incredibly rare snail-crossed-with-quail eggs. They are not transporting a Waterford mustard pot to go with the products they just purchased at Ye Olde Colman's Mustarde Shoppe. They are, in fact, indulging their overdeveloped ego of British Bag Superiority. And they look pityingly sideways upon all the cretins hurrying by with their mere Jones Bootmaker bags or cloth Body Shop bags (which show that you care for the environment) or (heavens preserve us!) the dreaded Primark bag. (Note: Primark is kind of like a cheaper and chavvier version of T.J. Maxx -- or as they like to call it in this country T.K. Maxx. I do LOVE me some Maxx!)

Well, I carry my shopping bags (which are not plastic -- I try not to use or keep those pestilences in the house because they breed when you aren't paying attention) because I like my jute shopping bags. They are mostly from Sainsbury's (because the ones from Tesco with only a few ladybugs are not as cute as the old ones.). But there are a couple which appeal to my embryonic sense of Faux-British Bag Snobbery -- e.g., my one from the Cardiff Riverside Real Food Market and the one from the Stone Barns Center for Food and Agriculture, where my dearest Lindsey Cousine took me for brekafast close to Tarrytown, NY. These indicate me to passersby as a (slight hypocrite though my inconsistency makes me) semi-regular organic and Fairtrade food consumer.

On the way home this evening, during a shopping dash into The Green Grocers, which is the best place to be sanctimonious about buying organic in Norwich, I almost caved and bought the tiniest jute carrier bag you have ever seen that does not have a get-well plant in it. All 8-inches square of it cost £1.99 (that is pretty damn close to $4.00USD. And that, my friends, is both absurd and foolish.)!

But it was pink.

And it did have their logo emblazened on it.

And this would have allowed me to look lazily askance at the cretins in Sainsbury's whilst packing up my fresh fruit and veg, as if to say, 'Well, reeeeaally, I am not accustomed to eating this food for the plebian masses. I only just popped in here because I didn't want to contaminate the planet by spewing carbon from transport just for my selfish needs.'

However, it occurs to me that pride is one of the Seven Deadly. So, it is really for the best that the bag was left today (it is Lent, you know, you bunch of heathens). However, in a moment of weakness, I worry that the spirit may cave in -- because really you wouldn't want to put your organic, free-range eggs in a big old ungainly jute bag with 8 bananas, 4 cans of soup and 3 litres of milk... now would you? And... it is pink!

Helmet Hair

...is not really fun. Of course, it is amusing, no doubt, to others. But not really so much to you. And when people smile at you in your purple cycle helmet, you really sense they see you as an imposter and are not thinking, 'Oh! What a good safety-conscious ladeeee.' No, they are thinking, 'What an utterly foolish purple-hatted idiot. Well, it takes all sorts.... bless.'

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Okay. Now I am over my paranoia :) I shall continue to wear my silly helmet (well, on Wednesday when I again trek to work) and have my fabulous little clicky lights that are LED and extremely bright (although my coat has to be tucked under my bum or the back light is hidden. This is challenging when you stand up to pedal up a difficult grade and your coat gets free and then when you try to tuck your coat in by moving your hips forward during pedalling movement... well, let's just say that's not such a cunning plan. Fortunately there was no traffic at all coming when my bike jerked suddenly and demonically to the right towards the middle of the road during this attempt.). It also happens (entirely accidentally, I swear) that my cycle helmet matches my bike, which is also a silly, yet fun, purple colour melange.

In case readers haven't figured out, one of the errands yesterday was to buy some lights and a helmet for me, because a) E cooks really too excellent food; b) i eat too much of this outstanding nosh [esp. the soda bread]; and c) i don't even have to walk the 10 minutes to the bus stop anymore. The helmet has been the easiest excuse with it getting dark so early in the winter, but even I admit that the 3 months I have been 'planning' to get one is a bit long.

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Yesterday's other errands involved:
* going to church
* going to B&Q (for board to make an additional dish shelf and for the Clever E to make a perfect shelf to go under my kitchen sink cabinet). B&Q is no relation to Home Depot, even though they both use way too much orange in their marketing plan and have the same fonts in-store. Maybe they are cousins. They should not marry; it would be frightening. HOWEVER, in a Normal for Norfolk way, my local B&Q was fined last year for requiring interviewees to dance during their job interviews... and another mention. And even the Tube paper!
* going to St. Clement's to a) put scratch cover on the two pieces of wood I am allowed to touch, b) pick up rubbish from the churchyard, and c) decide on my plan of cleaning attack for next Saturday (it will involve spider webs, dusting, and a dead pigeon -- hoorah!).

Light and colour

This morning, I have watched the light transform in a most amazing way.

My first attention to the matter (due no doubt to the alertness brought about halfway through my cuppa tea) was when a second glance out my front window provided the visual information stimulus that the house across the square (1A, which I would really have liked to have moved to if it weren't £150/month more than my cute house -- although admittedly tiny, twisty stairs and inattentive persons don't always mix well...) was no longer yellow, but appeared quite blue-white. This transformation of light happened within 63 seconds, i swear. It was quite bizarre!

Upon walking to window to check if this was the result of a solar eclipse, my eyesight going, or an alien invasion (spaceships affect light filtration, you know. Don't Panic.), it was actually only the result of the bank of cloud moving southeast-ish, with the bluest sky appearing in its wake. The cloud bank was a beautiful collection of deep pinks, purple and violent grey edged with silver white. At the section closest to being overhead there were a couple of stragglers who were pure white, just tootling along to keep up.

The skies in East Anglia are truly amazing and change so very quickly. Sadly, i do not seem to be able to capture much depth of outdoor colour with my camera (esp. blue). I have had a couple of fits. Every time I see some splendid array of colour, I think of the Norwich School and how it is no wonder such landscapes and skies sparked them.

This is the best example I could find online (George Vincent, Trowse Meadows, near Norwich, 1828), and it is not such good quality, so readers will have to come for a visit and we will go to the collection at Castle Museum...

Now the clouds are all gone, the sun is shining BRILLIANTLY, and it is time to inspect the house for dust (due to the good light). I shall need another cuppa tea.

My Pet Church (and more)

We have the keys to the pet church!

Today, E and I were invited along on a field trip to some of the 'churches over the water', which was part of a continuing ed. class from UEA, which our friend at the NHCT is taking (and at the same time, we were allowed the keys to St. Clements!). I am quite disappointed to have missed taking the class actually, as it would have fit into my non-travel schedule this Spring so beautifully. Alas, and alack.


First location of the morning was St. Clement's (at a cloudy and cold 10.30). No photos were taken, since I am a snob and think one can get better images when there aren't a load of people milling about, which will be possible during the hours we open the church to the public (although hopefully not emtpy the whole time).


There was a short lecture by the class leader, after which a brief milling about. It is thought that St. Clement's may well be the oldest church site in Norwich, it being in the ancient section known as 'Northwick' (hence, Norvic and then Norwich). The church as it stands now is 14th century. There is no proof, but it may be that St. Clement was named such as a result of Danish influence, the Danes being particularly taken with St. Clement. I got to practice locking up procedures under eye of our coordinator, Michael :) I passed! He also let people go up the church tower, and I am quite looking forward to venturing up myself (i like climbing things, esp. if my mama is at the bottom telling me not to).


We moved down Colegate to St. George's Colgate, which is the last remaining functioning church over the water (on the north side of the River Wensum). The nave dates from 1459, and it has an amazing collection of memorials. This font was moved from St. Saviour's. Detail to (L) shows some gargoyle faces; on some fonts these faces are matched at the tops of the columns above with angels, which represent them crushing the demons of hell.


We were not able to go into the next 3 churches.


From here, trip continued down Colegate, across Duke Street to St. Miles (hmm. I was glad to be with the group, or I might've gotten lost!). St. Miles is actually St. Michael and All Saints or St. Michael Coslany. Coslany was the village, named after an island of reeds in this section of the Wensum. In case any readers have forgotten what it looks like, here is a photo (one of my pseudo-daily records) showing the fog that has been a regular meteorological occurence lately.


St. Mary Coslany is directly to the rear of my house, and is the oldest round-tower church in Norwich. There are only 4 in Norwich. (For more diatribe on round towers, memory [which is dubious, as evidenced by previous post] hints at previous exuberance on subject.)


From St. Mary's Plain, we turned the corner into Oak Street to St. Martin at Oak. This is now an artist's studio (rented from the NHCT), and there is always an annoying and unattractive red truck pulled up the front sidewalk and yard-parked next to the door. How tacky! I took no photos, because I was annoyed. It is quite obvious that someone lives there, although Michael said that he was not supposed to be... We were supposed to be able to go inside, but the artist(s) would not answer the door and also appear to have changed the locks. This was disappointing, because it was the church I was most looking forward to seeing inside.


Lastly, we crossed the ring road (St. Crispins), walked up Quakers Lane through Gildencroft to St. Augustine's. It is the only medival church outside the ring road, and is the only church in the City of Norwich from which you cannot see another church (although it was pedantically pointed out that the tip of the Cathedral spire weathervane was just visible over an office building roof). It is not known whether it is named for Augustine of Hippo or for Augustine of Canterbury. From the Gildencroft side, the tower rebuild is most evident; both E and myself assumed this was post-WWII, but it is, in fact, 17th century!


Along the western side of the churchyard, is the longest row of Tudor houses in Britain.


Redundant since 1999, St Augustine's interior still looks like there will be a service on the Sunday, although someone might want to dust :)

Detail of the organ pipes, avec fleur de lis. Although coming from Louisiana, one might think that this signifies a love of all things French for some strange reason, the fleur de lis is variously representative of the Holy Trinity, the angel Gabriel, and the Virgin Mary.


Most of the windows are simple geometric designs, but this monument to Leonard Harry Pert, 'killed in battle in France May 3rd 1917' is quite splendid in comparison.

Memory of a Gnat

At the moment, am reminded of the time I burnt an entire loaf of sliced cinnamon raisin bread... 4 slices at a time.

Whilst the chef went to get supplies for this evening's sustenance, I was given the simple task of taking the soda bread out of the oven in 5 minutes... many promises of paying attention were made, assurances of responsible behaviour. However, the brain only kicked in 19:30 minutes into the England game, when E arrived back , the triggering event being the chimes as the door swung open.

I am told that the soda bread is fine. Although the dish towel in which it is wrapped is smouldering dramatically. I am penitent and contrite. E is very kind, congenial, and thinks all will be fine (this could be because England is currently winning and could signal that there will not be a final between Wales and France). He is so tolerant and just too blasted calm :)

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The commentator just referred to one of the players as a halfwit (hahahaha)

The American Lawsuit Mentality

...is spreading.

On the front page of the Telegraph today is the heart-warming tale of the engineer who is being sued by a cake decorator because she claims that the tip of her finger was severed whilst she was undertaking the socially necessary activity of shoving junk mail through people's letter-slots.

She is now unable to undertake her 'intricate work'. Not to be catty or overly personal (but I am Southern), but she does look like she has eaten a few too many of her failed cakes.

Item 1 (from The Daily Wail)
Item 2 (from The Telegraph)

Dialogue from the British ARmy Rumour Service (or ARRSE for short) which just makes me giggle.

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On a much more depressing note: it is worrying me that Forsythe, the Snail may be an ex-snail. I am quite sad. We shall give him another day in the same spot until I remove the body and see if there is any hope.

On my field trip to Historic Norwich Churches tomorrow, I shall perhaps pray that he is not actually deceased. Or pining for the fjords.

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And on the final depressing note, how is it already bloody Friday? Good heavens.

Frosty

There are few things cuter than animals in clothing. And it is even quainter when they are in clothing for a practical reason (rather than because amrie wants to see how the kitty looks in a pinafore). I have been charmed by this for quite a while, but keep forgetting to blog about it.

The horses put their little windbreakers on in about November and look like Aristocats character actors for the winter (and we all sing...). And then right before Christmas, people start walking their dogs in their little extra warm coats. Spoodle has a Police Dog coat, and passers by are dim enough to ask if she is on duty (she looks like very much like Weenie, Eloise's dog which looks like a cat; so this is incredibly hysterical). Other dogs are attired in plaids and various Country Gentry-wear, and I just love it!

It is definitely animal-clothing weather at the moment, as my fingers are fairly blue from my walk back from the Tesco with my shopping bag in hand and no gloves (i couldn't find them, Mama. I really do wear my gloves religiously... and yes. with moisturiser). It is at the moment approximately 0*C. (and some odd person has just driven a very small antique truck down the sidewalk past the front of my house. I am bemused as to why or how.) It is supposed to get to -4*C tonight (about 24*F). The fog is so thick that one's gets the impression that one's glasses are fogged up, and at night, everything glows. There was a magnificent frost this morning that looked like snow.

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Another interesting (and quaint as well, but not in a condescending sort of way) thing is that traffic and weather reports in the morning cover the entire country! This kind of makes me smile, but I really like it. It takes less time to cover the traffic in the whole of the UK than it does to cover the traffic in Dallas or Atlanta. And they are covering not only road traffic, but train traffic and delays as well. And this is just marvelous.

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Tonight's entertaining task is to make a delish carrot soup!