Wednesday 2 March 2016

A Lidl bit of Paradise

The smell of chicken is finally becoming irresistible.

In the bar on the hill last night there was tentative talk about going to Hvar. I wanted to give the garlic crisped one an idea of what the rest of my year would be like. In early March it would be quiet and remote, with nobody there but local people. I was also inspired to go because of the recent foreign language film I saw at the EBRD, Fishermen's Conversations, which was also set on the island. The weather was also set to be idyllic. So we checked ferries and times - who isn't together by 8.30am?

Turns out, me.

The light had been knocking on my window for some hours. But the wine, conversation, and late night writing has definitely taken its toll on both of us. So by the time I teetered down the stairs this morning it was getting on for half eight. In our usual style we were both relatively together by about 10.45. We decided not to go island hoping but be domestic goddesses instead.

Yes you heard that correctly. Domestic. Goddesses.

After Dalmatian ham, toast, local sour cherry jam, with assorted fruit salad and buckets of the usual builder's, we had a plan of action. We would hit the local laundrette then given I had a car here, I should take advantage and we could do a big shop. We sat around chatting with the gorgeous dog who was making eyes at us, attempting to hypnotise the ham into his mouth. It didn't work, bless.

We cleared up, rounded up the dirty underwear, and ambled off down the hill. The laundrette was locked but the little note on the door said she would be back at 11.15. We wondered how to while away 10 minutes in a sunny seaside place, so sat on the edge of the harbour and watched people feed the seagulls. These gulls are so fat and lazy, they couldn't even be bothered flying for the bread. I hope the fish appreciated the food! We slowly roasted in the unaccustomed light, and we commented on how different the town felt in comparison to yesterday. Everyone was out enjoying the sun, just as they were in Cagnes-sur-Mer.

I bet no one else was lugging around their laundry.

We headed back up to the laundrette and she arrived just in time. We deposited our smalls and promised to come back later. We have to, she now had all my favourite clothes. With that in mind and all the other domestic duties, we decided to go for a coffee on the seafront with all the locals. It was exceedingly pleasant as we trolled all the lovely people in London with our blue skies. After deciding we needed sun cream, we took a diversion via home, then as the car also required fuel, we stopped to fill up. Half way to the large Lidl, we decided that the sun was just too tempting.

We programmed the satnav to take us to Trogir, instead. I know, you're stunned, right?

Trogir has been of interest for some time and now I've been I really don't want to go again until next Feb - or at least the end of the season. The tiny streets were empty of people, the bars were quiet, and everywhere real work was taking place. We were seeing the business end of tourism and town preservation. The place is truly stunning, but I am only sad that we couldn't take part in the party in the bar that we stopped at. The smoke and whisky was really inviting... Please let me learn the language quickly although I don't think I'll ever be able to speak malboro and scotch, especially at 2pm. Not sure my constitution would take it.

We left reluctantly; she was all for joining the sleepy cat, all curled up on the chair in the sun.

We strolled back into the fresh blue and gold air. And headed for the gold, blue and red Lidl, after all, I still needed food. It's very tedious but having enjoyed a health kick over recent months, I'm determined to keep my beach figure. Something tells me I'm going to need it. So it was the usual stuff, including the usual weekly organic corn fed chicken to slow roast. Did I mention how good it smells? There is now smoothie material in my well as oats.

To think I was worried about my Scottish cereal fix.

I learned something about my flatmate today. Although 'completely relaxed' in a engineer, obsessed sort of way - you ask her about widgets and you get a lecture - she has a very special way of packing shopping. It's precise in a way you can only appreciate if you've experienced Burdett Road Lidl. A cultural event peculiar to East London. But she was packing in a queueless shop like a woman possessed, with a hoard of Bangladeshi ladies behind her... There was no one. I made like a teenager and hung around looking sulky and unhelpful.


We headed back into town as quickly as possible. Me for the cevapcici, her for the wine. Who gets distracted by pasta? Seriously? What are we, Italian, or something *snigger* When we got back, I had 15 mins to retrieve our knickers, which I did with aplomb. The rest of our night was spent being utter goddesses of domesticity. No I didn't make a fricking cake, but I produced an epic dinner and scrubbed her silk gussets.

What are best mates for??

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