UK Shopping and Me: A Minefield Revisited

I wrote a post last time I visited the UK, that I just have to share with you all. As you read this I am somewhere on the other side of the world, probably asleep, maybe dreaming of all the adventures ahead of me tomorrow and the next day, in Ireland, Scotland, Newcastle and the Midlands. Or maybe I am tossing and turning in a cold sweat, as I contemplate that most traumatic of events... CLOTHES SHOPPING IN THE UK FOR A GIRL WHO'S CURVY....

From My Original Post:

I always knew that being in the UK would present a body-image challenge to me. Every time I have come here I have always ended up feeling big and frumpy.

Even when I was dead skinny (just after I got married) I still felt large when shopping here. Maybe because I'm automatically a size larger in England. Maybe because I am self-conscious meeting all Mr G's friends and family and being under the microscope.

Yes, I have my insecurities about the way I look. But somehow at home in my comfort zone surrounded by my lovely friends and familiar places I feel OK about myself - on the curvy side of average. I haven't felt any great urgency to rush out and diet or exercise madly. My lazy ways have seemed perfectly fine until now.

I had decided, based on previous shopping experiences in trips-gone-by to not shop for clothes in the UK at all. But after spending a day clothes and shoe-shopping for Mr G (a.k.a Mr Imelda Markos) I was feeling a bit left out. Kind, supportive Mr G said, Why don't we come back tomorrow and go clothes shopping for you?

So the next day we returned to town, armed with our credit cards. Mr G said the aunties had given him some advice on where to take me. We walked past Primark, Next and Marks & Spencers. We entered a shop called Evans.

Hmmm, seems to be a few older women in here... I was looking for jeans, and headed for the nearest rack... which on closer inspection seemed to start at Size 18.

I felt a prickle of horror go up my neck. Surely not?? My husband has taken me clothes shopping in... A Big Girls Shop???

The skinny 20-something salesgirl smiled condescendingly at me (middle-aged Big Girl that I am). Did I need any assistance??

No! I wanted to get out of here!

Mr G didn't understand my distress, and insisted I try on the size 18 jeans. Of course they swam on me.

Get me out of here!!! I demanded through clenched teeth.

Out on the pavement I ranted through my tears: How could you do that to me?? Am I that big that I need a Plus-size shop?? Is that what your relatives think?? Did they tell you where to find clothes big enough to stretch over your wife's jumbo backside?? I was mortified, horrified.

Mr G explained the misunderstanding. He'd innocently asked advice on some good shops to take me. He mentioned my paranoia about the clothing size difference here. They suggested Next and M&S... but if all else fails Evans has a wide range of sizes (apparently from size 14UK, but I never saw any smaller sizes).

OK. I felt a little better. I forgive you Mr G. So they don't all think I'm a blimp??

(Well, I have had three big babies; I really was huge with Scrag and he's left me with a bit of a jelly belly, so you can understand my paranoia?)

We headed to Next and the first pair of jeans I tried on fitted like a glove and looked great (UK size 16 = NZ size14).

I also got a way-cool jacket and a gorgeous M&S dress. I left satisfied. But I think I've had my fill of clothes shopping now. Way too traumatic.

Maybe just some perfume or new shoes...?? I don't have any issues about my feet, after all.

..................

All the things I said in this post remain true for me. My paranoia and phobia about British clothes shops still haunts me.
I still live in horror of walking into a dress shop and realising that nothing here will fit me.
What I want to know is where do Trinny and Susannah find all the cool gear they dress their various sized-and-shaped clients in?
Where are all those clothes? Which shops were they?

I'm just really not a shopper, even at the best of times.
So my plan is to treat myself with some Duty Free Perfume.
And maybe a trip to the fabulous Bravissimo. Find some swimmers that will support "the girls" adequately so I can do away with my burqa long-sleeved rash top in summer.

Oh and Clarks shoes. Apparently Clarks have boots that cater for chunky calves and cankles like mine.
And if I happen to wander in to Next and spot something divine, I'll not be silly about it.
I'm just glad I can still fit those clothes I bought last time - so I know I'm roughly the same size.
And I don't need to darken Evans' door.
Wish me luck.
♥


P.S. Anyone want to see what I actually bought here in the UK? Let me know and I'll try and do a follow up post with pictures and let you know how I've gotten on...

A Very Sporty Day

We began our day with Sport.

We may be on the Other Side of the World but we are all Kiwis to the core

{yes, even Geordie Mr G}

No way could we miss a match this important...

The Rugby World Cup.
All Blacks vs France. New Zealand's bogey team.

Twice they have knocked us out of the Rugby World cup in years gone by.

Twice. Like a sickening recurring nightmare.

But not this time. 

We stood in Grandma's living room and sang the National Anthem in Maori and English

hands clasped over hearts.

Then shirts were ripped off and it was Haka Time.

If I were the French I would have been scared.

The All Blacks won! As I knew they would. Haaaa-le-luuuuu-jaaaaah!!!!

With that nail-biting game out of the way I have every confidence 

that the Boys in Black can finally win that elusive Golden Trophy.

What a way to start the day.

But more sporting awesomeness was still to come...

An English Premier League Football Match.

Newcastle United vs Blackburn Rovers.
At St James' Park.

And this time I get to go.

A Little Background...

I once went to a match at St James Park.

Mr G and I were newlyweds. I was a football novice.

I thought football {aka soccer} was boooooring.

Until I went to that Premier League Match.

The atmosphere is electric. There is chanting, singing.

When someone scores, elation, hugging and kissing strangers.

I finally understand what all the fuss is about

{and why football is the world's most popular sport}.

Then I gave birth to a footballer. The round-ball game dominates our Saturdays.

His granny got his name engraved on a stone at the stadium to celebrate his birth.

His daddy took him to a match the last time we came here. He toured the ground and signed for Newcastle. Make believe. One day, he says, it will be for real.

And this time I got to come with him. To see those shining eyes for myself.

What a fabulous day. 

We met Mr G's long-time friend Mickey at the Hilton for drinks. And lunch.

Yes. The Hilton.

{I told you it was a fabulous day}

Dash got to hang out with Mickey's boy. Age fifteen.

The age gap did not stop Dash from chewing the lad's ear off about football.

But it did have other effects.

Like, I noticed Dash wouldn't hold my hand like he usually does.

{Awww shucks he doesn't want his mate to think he's a baby}

He was definitely trying to be cool. Super cool.

As in whatever-you-do-don't-smile-for-the-camera-cool.

Hehe. That just made me laugh.

He's way too cute to be teenage-cool.

He'd start chanting, singing, then see me looking and get that sheepish look, 

all embarrassed he'd duck his head.

"Don't worry son," I told him, "You chant and I'll chant with ya..."

After all, me and daddy are grownups and we still chant.

And sing. Hold hands. And shout at the Ref.

A super duper day for sport, all round.

Newcastle beat Blackburn 3-1.

Mr G got to throw Dash up in the air.

You just can't be thrown in the air and remain teenage-cool. 

When you're eight years old and very excited, at some point its going to leak out the seams.

Like when you shake a bottle of Fanta and then open the lid...

{Actually it was the lemonade that sprayed everywhere
when Dash opened it after Daddy had thrown him in the air...}

As we were leaving the ground, a little hand stole into mine.

I looked straight ahead, said nothing.

But the smile on my face went all the way down to my toes.

Ahhh yes, a fabulous day for sport.

♥

Our Trip So Far:
Our Travel Plans & Itinerary
Postcard From Newcastle
We Explore Roman Vindolanda

We Explore Roman Vindolanda

New Zealand is a very young country. Our {European} history barely stretches back 180 years, so to come to a place where people have lived and loved for thousands of years... it kind of blows our little Colonial minds.

The plan for Friday was to catch the train and meet up with Mr G in Haltwhistle, where he ended his walk along Hadrian's Wall. We made it to the train on time. On board Miss Fab grabbed the camera and snapped some pics. Scrag posed obligingly.

We joyfully reunited with daddy, and enjoyed a lovely lunch with Aunty Margaret at Haltwhistle. She filled us in on Mr G's adventures on Hadrian's Wall. He walked 25 kilometres in the pouring rain, falling twice. He walked with a bunch of American tourists for most of the way, and finally limped into the wrong pub for his rendezvous with Uncle Cliffy. Somehow they found him and took him home, where he finished off his day by dripping all over Aunty Margaret's kitchen floor and falling asleep in his dinner...

With Aunty Margaret & Uncle Cliffy

Mr G had a great adventure alright, and Hadrians Wall had worked its magic on him. Now he wanted to share it with us, show us where he'd been and what he'd seen and learnt about the Romans who built and manned the wall nearly two thousand years ago.

The Wall was built by the Roman Emperor, Hadrian, to keep the barbarian Scots out of England and to establish the edge of the Roman Empire. The Wall stretches for 80miles across the north of England {along what used to be the Scottish border}. It was patrolled by soldiers who lived in forts and villages nearby for over 300 years, until the decline of the Roman Empire. Much of the Wall still remains standing nearly two thousand years after it was built.

Daddy took us to Vindolanda, an excavated Roman village and fort on the Wall, so we could understand his excitement and learn a bit about history.

Of course Vindolanda is all mostly ruins. Foundations, piles of rubble.
But there's something kind of eerie about the place. A wide open windswept moor in the shadow of the hills, rather bleak.

You walk along paths, stand in places where people once lived so very long ago. For them, this was home. Or exile from home. How would it have been to be sent to this edge of the Empire, far from everything. In this little huddle of rocks and walls they built a corner of comfort from the cold English winters and wet autumns.

That's what I imagine as I walk through these old old places. Stand in front of glass cabinets displaying discarded shoes someone once walked in; admire lost earrings someone once wore. Real people, vanished forever, once lived here. I love old things for this reason. People fascinate me.

So it may be just a pile of old rocks to some, but to this Colonial tourist, its intriguing.

My children laughing and running where vanished children once laughed and ran.

My son walking the stones of a Roman road, where other women's sons once walked.

This is a milestone. An actual Mile Stone - the Romans set them up along their roads to let travelers know how far they had come. They were clever, those Romans. They even had flush toilets. Did you know that?

So glad Mr G took us to Vindolanda.
A trip back in time.
Thanks Daddy!!

Now back to the present...
we are about to sit down and watch the All Blacks whip France. I hope.
And then off to St James Park this arvo to watch Newcastle.

♥

Postcard from Newcastle {and the Things I'm Loving}

"Wishing you were here..."
Isn't that what you usually write on postcards?
This one is coming to you live from Newcastle-Upon-Tyne in the North East of England.
It's 8pm in the evening, Thursday night here. Weird to think that right now my friends and kiwi blogpals are awake on their Friday morning, as we are tucking up the kids in bed and settling down for the night.

So here we are on the other side of the world.
And here are all the things I'm loving so far...

Loving that we survived the Journey
Actually we did better than survive. The kids were amazing.
What a difference two years and an extra seat can make.
I did not even need to medicate.

Love my lil seasoned travellers...

No bags were abandoned in airport lounges, no passports left at check-in counters {yeah I did that once...}.
There was no pacing the aisles with a wriggling toddler or sleepless baby, no vomiting on the person in front of us, no screaming, tantrums or meltdowns of any kind.

We even got to watch movies uninterrupted!
Tiring it was. A nightmare it was not.

Loving Miss Fab enjoying her hot towel...

Not Loving Newcastle Airport.
The only blemish on the otherwise clear skin of our travel adventure? A two hour queue at passport control. No allowance made for the fact that we were the only people in the line with children. Or the only people in the line not entering the country as students with all the extra paperwork that goes with a student visa. Yeah. Not exactly the welcome we were hoping for. But still. We survived.
Wiped the kids frustrated tears away, ate leftover plane snacks, shared earbuds and listened to music on our dinky little Ipod shuffle. Eventually got our passports stamped and that was that.
We fell into the arms of our waiting family, hugs and kisses all round.
Welcome to Newcastle.
The adventure begins.

Loving Spontaneous Coolness
The day after we landed we expected we would feel like crap and not want to go anywhere. But we were surprisingly OK and the kids were bursting for some action... so we piled in the car and headed to the coast.

Did we bring any beach gear? changes of clothes? buckets or spades?
Ha! Of course not... we are jetlagged and not thinking straight.
We just turn up at the lighthouse where Mr G spots rock pools and an icecream van handily selling rockpooling gear as well as frozen treats....

Mr G wastes no time purchasing nets, buckets, spades...
{I love how he thinks of stuff like this and just does it}

I have fun following them all around, snapping pictures...
{love these holiday snap-fests}

When cousin Erin turns up with sweet baby Jack, we all fall in love...
{I also admire my hunky guy through my camera lens and think that Sophie might be right about his resemblance to Gerard Butler}

When everyone's shoes are soaked through from stepping in salty puddles we decide its time to move on...
We return our sea creatures to the wild...
...leaving nothing but footprints, taking nothing but photographs...

We say "ta ta for now" to the lighthouse and head to Tynemouth Longsands for some more photo ops...

Aint it picturesque? I love this place.
Remember it covered with snow, me and Mr G walking along it as newlyweds {watching madmen out surfing in the North Sea as the snow fell}
Ahhh the memories.

Loving Making New Memories

These images really need no words. Beach+kids=good times.
Add in a cute baby cousin, a cool "aunty" and a doting granny... magic.

Love.

While daddy is off walking Hadrians Wall we are training it around the city.

Loving catching the train everywhere.
Sort of.
It should be fun. But jetlagged kids can be unpredictable.
That's all I'm saying.
{Loving that we catch one last train tomorrow to meet up with daddy where he has promised to show us some historical sights. I love historical sights. I also love daddy. Awww shucks.}

Love the funny stuff kids come out with.
Like yesterday when Miss Fab asked politely: "Um, Grandma...? Does England have any houses that aren't all kind of stuck together...?"

Loving being likened to a celebrity...
Yeah, we had dinner at a pub the other night and this waitress comes up to me and says, "You know you really remind me of a celebrity..."
Oh shucks. I blush.
"She's an actress and a singer but I can't think of her name," she continues, "She's really famous and you look like her, but a younger version..."
Yeah I'm loving this.
"She sings, 'I am a woman in love'..."
Huh? Celine Dion?? I look nothing like Celine Dion.
"No that's it! Barbra Streisand!"
Whaaaa? Can't really say I am loving being likened to Barbra Streisand.
Do you see the resemblance?
Ha. Its funny though. Ha. Ha.
Ha.

And finally.

Loving being somewhere altogether different.
Hearing that lyrical Geordie patter. The strange brands, the foreign coins.
Hanging out with family. Eating baked goods from Greggs.
And being entertained while waiting for the train by this guy and his hoarse-voiced mate...

Fruit hawkers. A stall set up at the entrance to the Metro {Train} Station.

"Apoundapoundsixbananasrealcheapforapound..." one shouts.
"Satsumaslovelysatsumashereforjustapoundapoundforsatsumas..." the other bloke chimes in.
We lean over the railings of the railway platform and look down on them, giggling, trying to figure out what they are saying...

Ahhh yes. Travel has not lost its lustre for me at all.
I love it. I revel in it. I suck it up, 4am wakings, jetlag and all.
That's what I'm loving so far on my adventures.

Along with loving reading The Help.
What a great book. I have about 30 pages left...so as soon as I post this I am off to finish it. Bliss.

• Our itinerary for this trip
• My Tips for traveling with Kids
• Our 2009 UK Adventures

What are you loving lately?


{I'm super pleased to be in time to link up my Loving Postcard with my friend PaisleyJade. Grateful that although this post has taken me two hours to complete the computer has managed to not crash. Grateful I have access to a computer at all even though it is the Mama Dinosaur of all Dinosaur computers...}