Posted by Skyhook
on Thu 26 Nov 09, 11:14 PM to Skyhook's blog.
You may have read about my recent jacket/fire interface fracas here , and I must say I was positively underwhelmed by the sympathy offered. Still, never one to be concerned by public opinion (I'm still here!) I thought I'd give an update on the jacket hunt.
**
Even as I pulled into the Meadowhall carpark I had to chuckle to myself. Perhaps I'd made a mistake and didn't need a new jacket after all; I was feeling quite warm and toasty.
Mainly because I was enveloped in a searing white hot ball of steaming rage and anger.
I'm talking to you, Mr Ford Focus driver. Said Focus had stopped at the top of the entrance ramp to the carpark, driver obviously confuddled by the myriad of choices that were presented to him. Should he –
a) Turn left, and drive into a parked car?
b) Go straight on, and drive into a parked car?
c) Turn right, into the blatantly clear road through the carpark?
Eventually the correct synapses managed to clang together for comfort and companionship in the dark agoraphobic's nightmare of his head, and he proceeded to take option c) by meandering into the clear road with all the urgency of an arthritic sloth after a three course meal and two bottles of wine.
And relax. I had Mrs S and baby Skyhook with me, so I could park with ever-so-slightly smug pride in the parent and toddler bays instead of using half a tank of petrol driving around to find a space. Except I couldn't. They were all taken. There were a few disabled bays free, and for a minute I considered grabbing a random passerby, breaking his legs and stapling him to the bonnet so I could use one of them, but no, I decided to play nice. Oh ok, I didn't want to damage my paintwork.
So, around we go to find a decent space with enough room to get baby and her stuff out of the car (and enough space to prevent the doors of the neighbouring cars damaging my paintwork). No problem. Nooooo problem. Ftttttssshhhhhhppppptttttt. It turned into a deathly race against the clock; what would run out first? My petrol or my increasingly tenuous grasp on sanity? It appears that Meadowhall has introduced a valet parking service for its customers. Unfortunately it also appears they've employed Bo and Luke fucking Duke to do said parking.
Still, we eventually found a place where the cars around us had more than a passing acquaintance with the concept of parking straight between the lines, and it was even just about in the same postcode as the shops. Or a seasonal Postie's letter throw away from the palace of consumerism at the least. Ok. Let's do this. Let's jacket shop. Grrrrr. I'm a shoppin' Domly tiger.
**
Something is wrong, very wrong. Surely this will make the local if not national news tonight? It's obvious what has occurred – a Rimmel saleswoman must've been driven mentalist by the bright lights, the shoppers, the jaunty music – she's obviously gone postal, gone on a rampage armed only with a trowel and her biggest cosmetics sample case. That can be the only explanation for every girl and woman we passed being plastered in thickly applied make-up. Lips from the Leslie Ash 'Plumptious' range, eyes from Chi-Chi the Panda's 'Not tonight dear, I've got a headache' selection, the rest from Bugglerlugs the Clown's 'Crying on the inside' assortment. Quite bizarre.
My natural cheerful optimism took a bit of a bash at this point, I must admit. Were there any male jacket emporia left? Going on the evidence presented every shop had been replaced by one selling leggings, slightly too tight low-cut white vests and black bras. Not that I'm complaining at that. But without coming over all Trinny and Susannah (nnnuuugh, there is a thought, coming over Trinny and Susannah…a little bit of sick has just popped into my mouth) don't some of these girls own mirrors? Never has so little material been stretched over so much. The wrong type and size of clothes can make even the most fantastic figure look a bit, well, like 10lbs of lard in a 7lb bag.
Which brings things nicely back to me and my jacket hunt. Now, the quest, the odyssey, to find the jacket that was destined to die in a firey end is one that's too painful to recount here. Suffice it to say, I looked everywhere, tried on hundreds, despairing that the ones I liked and wanted never looked right on the more, er, compact and bijou man. Until I found The One. (I'm still talking about jackets, that wasn't a metaphor for relationships). Winter coat shopping last year however, went a lot smoother, due to Mrs S being with me. She has an eye for these things, so could give a 'it wouldn't suit you, don't even bother' before I'd even taken a favoured item of coatery wonderfulness off the rack. So really, I had high hopes that the search would go well. Or at least with minimal swearing and stamping of feet like a big Jessie.
Trump card played first then, off to the shop that'd seen me right in the past. Straight to a rather splendid denim item – but no, my grubby little mitt had only just begun to reach for it before Mrs S gave the 'no'. Buggeration. Shop two then. Have I missed something? Has there been a 70's sofa amnesty? Surely that can be the only explanation for the amount of jackets made from chic, classy 'leatherette'. I. Don't Think. So. But then, like a Wildhearts song being played on Radio One, there was a diamond shining in the spaff – a fetching (bear with me on this) brown suede item, and lawks-o-riley, it fitted! And only £15 over budget (down from originally being £65 over budget). This I decided, would be my 'banker'*, one to come back to if I didn't find something even better. The only worry was that it was the last one in my size…
*Having a 'banker' to go back to is completely different to the female practice of looking at eleventy-hundred items before going back to the first shop five hours later to buy the first thing they'd tried. Completely different. Oh yes.
Buoyed up by this, we merrily sauntered though the next set of shops, hardly caring that no shop would have the men's department on the same floor as the last. Lifts? We took to taking baby's pram up the escalator. Mainly because most of the lifts were hidden, the worst culprit hiding the doors in a huge wall covering cityscape mosaic. And no lift sign. Speaking of deception – there is genius at work in the shop design field. It's easy enough to enter their treasury of material goodness, but can you find the way out again? Can you buggery. There were bewildered people in there, scrawny and pathetic, living off price tags and pocket fluff for sustenance, forever searching for a way out, people who still thought John Major was Prime Minister. In one shop they were filming the next series of 'Lost' by the sock counter. At one point we passed a small girl muttering 'we aren't in Kansas anymore'. But no better jackets.
Time for food. It's a sign of our savage moodswings between insane optimism and crushing dark fatalism that we decided on McDonalds, and thought 'fast food' in the same sentence. Of course I didn't help matters by confusing the poor girl at the till by making the unusual, unexpectedly exotic and obscure order of 'a big mac meal'. Still, she gathered herself, took a deep breath and put her opposable thumbs to good use mashing them against the little pictures on the till. The chap serving the food was a little keener (though what crime must he have committed to not be considered good enough to work the tills?). So keen in fact that he rushed over and in his enthusiasm chucked the fries out of their cardboard container and all over the tray. As we found a quiet corner to sit in, so Mrs S could feed baby (breast milk, not MaccaD) I couldn't help but smile at the packaging. 'Our world famous special sauce', it jauntily proclaimed, next to a quaint picture of a cute little jar. Right. Like they keep the stuff in little jars in the kitchen, instead of it being delivered in twatting huge tankers and stored in hulking great vats under the foundations.
Anyway, high on additives and life we decided to call it a day. It was time to go and collect the Banker. The last one in the shop, remember? Of course they'd still have it. Of course…
**
This never happens.
**
They still had the jacket. And we found at the till there was an extra 20% off.
Sometimes life gets it right. It was a good day.
I did, however, have to punch the wild-eyed, slightly foaming at the mouth woman who, on the way out, offered Mrs S a free make-over and complimentary pair of leggings.
| 26 Nov 09, 11:21 PM little_belle UK(E), 3 yrs   |
Yay, an evening Skyhook lol! Well done on finding a jacket. All I want it this world...ALL I want is a pair of purple (not lilac) corduroy trousers that fit me. Or any material really. Just some trousers, that aren't sodding jeans. I found three different shops (out of the 20 or so I have looked in during the last month) and in each case the 12s stopped me breathing and the 14s fell off when I stood up. Oh the joys of being a size '13'. So, I am only partially happy for you. Mostly, I want to punch you in the eye. Hewwo! I make nylon whips. Take a peek at my profile if you'd like to buy one. | |
| 26 Nov 09, 11:33 PM firemynx_B UK(B), 10 yrs |
Absolutely cracked up laughing! Brilliant!! "Dear Santa ........ I can explain!" | |
| 26 Nov 09, 11:37 PM jules9 UK(CH), 2 yrs   |
Congratulations you! Damn I've missed your blogs... XxX | |
| 26 Nov 09, 11:45 PM goodcatholicgirl UK(CH), 3 yrs |
Hilarious  ....and almost very nearly put me off heading to the Trafford Centre Saturday, but i'm past that already.
(sorry Master You only live once - but if you work it right, once is enough. | |
| 27 Nov 09, 12:30 AM harley_quimm UK(M), 4 yrs   |
braved meadowhall on tuesday evening. We only tend to go when you wont find anyone else there.. monday morning or something.. unless its an emergency.
Well done Child of Chaos. | |
| 27 Nov 09, 7:44 AM Amber_Light 3 yrs |
Holy shit J, how can anyone make me laugh THAT much on a Friday morning!! (Don't know how I missed the first post though?)
"...with all the urgency of an arthritic sloth after a three course meal and two bottles of wine..." tena lady would not have sufficed for this one ha ha! I've missed your wit here, the funniest ever writer by far | |
| 27 Nov 09, 7:45 AM Dovetail UK, 3 yrs |
Another gem of a weblog!
| |
| 27 Nov 09, 10:25 AM Jezzebelle UK, 10 yrs |
Well done you, took me three years to find the right jacket and it cost more than I planned! Bugger is, in 3-6 months it's going to be too big for me  .http://www.flickr.com/photos/jezzebelle/ | |
| 27 Nov 09, 1:01 PM stormywaters PT, 4 yrs |
Breathing? Grief, they don't make girlies like they used to. Since when has breathing come between a girl and looking gorgeous? My object all sublime... | |
| 27 Nov 09, 6:11 PM fluffy_welsh_angel UK(DN), 5 yrs |
I love you two!! xx Mew |
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