WHAT YOU'LL FIND ON THIS BLOG

Friday, 25 September 2015

Reasons why Fran won't be going in a certain shop again for a while

In a rush this morning, I left home without having had breakfast. But I pass a bakery on my way to work.

Today, there was a display of fresh-baked pastries in the window: almond croissants, apricot croissants, pain au chocolat, cinnamon whirls, all with that come-hither look in their eyes, like the pastry equivalents of George Clooney or Johnny Depp (the difference being that I've never been allowed to bite either George or Johnny).

I said to myself, 'Fran. Resist. Walk straight on. You know you said you were determined to -'

I interrupted myself, saying, 'Not listening. Not listening. Not listening.' And dashed into the shop before I could reply.

'What can I get you?' the shop assistant asked.

'Can you get me a body like Cara Delavigne's?' I said.

'We have none in stock, I'm afraid,' she said.

'In which case, I'll have three of those almond pastries and give up the fight,' I said.

Actually, that conversation didn't happen. It's the kind of repartee I always wish I'd thought of after the event, but didn't. I've written it here so that at least it will exist in some form.

What happened was that the assistant asked me what I'd like, and because I hadn't decided, I stood just inside the door, straining my body into the window so that I could examine the pastries again. I spent a while saying, 'Maybe I'll -' and 'Ooh, that one looks -' and 'Perhaps that one -'

The assistant kept nodding, as though in sympathy with my being unable to choose.

But then I saw she was nodding at me, and then towards the door. Outside was a man, patiently waiting, unable to get in because my body was leaning against the door, preventing his entry, while I feasted my eyes on the pastries, a bit like this.




After allowing him in, and saying sorry so many times he probably thought it the only word I knew, I had to make a quick decision and equally rapid getaway. So I plumped (Deliberately Chosen Verb) for an apricot pastry so big I'm surprised they got it in a standard oven. It took her a while to wrap it as it needed a piece of paper meant for a family-sized loaf, and I predict she'll never get bingo wings working there.

I ate the pastry with a cup of coffee when I got to work, but I waited until no one else was in the office. One never likes to be caught snaffling one's way through enough pastry to line Lake Windermere.



27 comments:

  1. "like the pastry equivalents of George Clooney or Johnny Depp (the difference being that I've never been allowed to bite Johnny Depp)."
    Do we surmise then that you HAVE bitten Mr Clooney ?!

    The apricot filled pastry sounds divine & I hope you enjoyed every bite while day dreaming of Johnny & George x

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Alas, alas, no, him neither. *Heavy sigh*

      Delete
    2. I've edited it now BadPenny - I was confusing too many people. Bad Writer!

      Delete
  2. Laughing helplessly here (and drooling too)!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Laughing and drooling. My two favourite activities! Thanks, Molly.

      Delete
  3. You write that you've never been allowed to bite Johnny Depp, but I see no equivalent mention of George Clooney, previously-referenced in the same sentence. It follows, therefore, that you HAVE been allowed to bite George Clooney. How was he? Did he put up a fight?

    ReplyDelete
  4. Sorry, I've only now read BadPenny's comment and your response. Clearly, my minute parsing of your post did not extend to the comments.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It's my fault, not yours, Debra. I've edited it now so that I stop confusing people. So, no, he didn't fight back, because - and I'm sure this is something he grieves about too - he's never had the opportunity.

      Delete
  5. I used to have a dog who drooled like that, only more. He had these big rope-like things of drool coming from his mouth all the time. He was a coon hound, and I adored him. He was probably a hunting dog who had been left for dead. He lived in the woods on his own before the dog officer caught up to him and saved him. I adopted him and named him Thoreau. He was much loved by everyone who met him. He was a great solid block of a dog. If he stepped on your foot, it stayed stepped on. He used to get in bed with me. When my ex-husband tried to get in the bed, Thoreau growled at him. I found this behavior extremely amusing, while my former spouse did not. Thoreau died at about 3 a.m. quite a few years ago. Some kind people came to my house and buried him under his napping tree--obviously, the tree under which he liked to nap. I would mind giving George or Johnny a bite, or at least a lick.

    Love,
    Janie

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That's such a sad story, but funny too. What a great name for a dog. I know what you mean by dogs with 'rope like drool' - if I walk near one, I back off quickly in case it shakes its head and I am wrapped in drool like a woman in a net.

      Delete
  6. eww!
    Can we hose down the pastry before we eat it?
    Or just rinse it in Lake Windermere?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This will all depend on how long it is since you've eaten a pastry and how desperate. I think I'd pop it in the microwave for a little dry-out.

      Delete
  7. Must be the time of year - cool weather arriving, signaling our systems to put on a few pounds for insulation. Last night's two fistfuls of mint (dark chocolate, too!) M&Ms circled like bats around my conscience for hours.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Circled like bats - that's such a great description of the activity of a conscience!!

      Delete
  8. Mmmm, cinnamon whirls. I'll have two please. One's for Ron. Later on.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. They're my favourites too but the one in the window was a little over-baked. Not that I'm fussy, or anything.

      Delete
    2. Oh I'm fussy. I won't buy over baked pastries.

      Delete
  9. Why would you want to line Lake Windermere with pastry? That surely would be a recipe for a soggy bottom (the pastry, not the person, though probably the person too).

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Drain all the water out, line the base with pastry, fill with apples or a nice bit of steak mince, put a pastry top on it. Voila. A pie to rival all pies. I guess you'd have to hope for a very hot day though, if you wanted it cooked. Oops. Didn't think of that.

      Delete
  10. Don't be silly !
    You're their perfect customer , a woman of eclectic tastes with a healthy appetite .

    ReplyDelete
  11. I loved your post. I cannot resist Pain au raisins, freshly baked. And I buy for the whole family (4 people), but then they're gone by the time I get home. I reason that if ALL the evidence is destroyed, no one need ever know that they were thought of. But I have to ask : What are Bingo wings?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The buy for the whole family then eat them all thing .... I think you and I must be sisters separated at birth. As for bingo wings ... I'm guessing from your photo you're still in that naive young pre-middle-age stage that doesn't have to worry about the saggy bits of flesh that hang from your upper arms when everything goes south .....

      Delete
    2. Oh, I see. No, the sags are there, just don't play bingo (yet). Really enjoying your blog, and going to order your book. I live in South Africa, is shipping a problem?

      Delete
    3. Bev, I'll send you a book if you order from the blog. Yes, it's slightly more expensive to send, but let's just say should you get a chance to go on SA television and yell 'You should all read Fran Hill' we'll be quits. I did publish the book via FeedaRead but they don't seem to have an option for sending to SA. Or, could you move to Canada? They have one for Canada.

      Delete
    4. I guess the postage from your part of the world to mine is lower than the cost of moving to Canada 😁. I'd gladly move, on condition that it's only me, not the rest of the family. 😉 Thanks. Will order in next few days.

      Delete
  12. Haha! I love the bit where you interrupt yourself, saying "Not listening! Not listening!". I do that all the time. Or I listen, then I do whatever it is quickly before the inner voice strikes again. Fabulous post. Really very funny :) :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I hate my inner voice. It's got such a gob on it, just when I need peace and quiet.

      Delete