On Friday morning Jack and I went to St Albans again. The weather has turned cold and even though Jack has vast quantities of clothing (thanks to the grandmas, garn, uncles and aunties), all his warm jackets were in the wash. S suggested purchasing something from the village but no luck.
Ever since we got here I've been trying to work out what this place resembles (not the manor because that's like a cross between Fawlty Towers and Gordon Ramsay's kitchen nightmares) the village. At first I thought it was like Mosman. Pricey real estate, european cars, nice shops, cafes and yummy mummies in abundance. It's kind of like Mosman but not quite, maybe it's Cremorne. The whole village only has one chichi baby shop to service all the YMs. Obviously they're just not trying hard enough here (or they need a 'baybeecino' stat).
Anyway Jack and I tracked mud into the one and only 'bebe' shop and were studiously ignored. There were lots of very pretty things and blonde children running around called Ollie and Augusta, but nothing remotely warm. Not a thing. Obviously these people are in denial about the english weather.
something or other. I So I had a think and decided that we should go to St Albans again. We were meeting S for lunch but that was at 1pm. Plenty of time. So we caught the train and found the high street once more. Last time I have to say I had problems finding the high street. I looked at a map at the station but overwhelmed by the fumes from a truck pumping effluent from the station loos (ugh!) I didn't quite have the gist. I confidently set off in the direction I thought I should go but before too long was concerned as I kept on seeing signs for Hemelasked a man if I was heading in the right direction for the town centre (realising afterwards that I didn't specify which town centre) and he assured me that I was but minutes/kilometres later I was starting to get worried. Could I have walked to another town? But then I rounded a corner and saw shops and markets and was relieved. Then on the way back swelled with confidence from having located St Albans and its market I set off back to the station and almost ended up somewhere else...london...luton (Nooooo!!!) and backtracking was involved.
Now I had been told that there was a market in St A every Wednesday and Saturday (and I do love a market) so I was surprised and delighted to see a market (albeit a smaller one) there on a Friday and imagine my delight when I found out it was a french market selling pastries, charcuterie, cheeses and churros which I thought was stretching things a little but they'd changed the name to French churros. Ah yes, that sounds authentic. I was tres excited. Jack and I perused the markets (of course after we got him a warm top at M & S- what sort of a mother do you think I am). The people on the stalls were friendly and charming and french. I know I was surprised too. I thought they must do this every Friday but no, the next french market would not be held there for 6 months. What luck (unless they just told me that so I would purchase their wares).
I bought croissants and pains au chocolat, which we ate this morning while everyone else had their dreadful skinny, english toast. Jack had some of the pain au chocolat as well and ended up with a chocolatey mouth. Not sure where he gets his taste for chocolate from.
And we were back in time for lunch. S and jack and I went to a local pub that's been gussied up with chandeliers and tuscan tones but they did a great steak and ale pie with rough mash, peas and carrots. And the veg was still tasty and crunchy.
Am going back to St Albans next Friday just in case they lied. I won't hold it against them I'll just make sure I buy more croissants this time.