The almost 11-year-old has a real thing about cafes, he's become quite a connoisseur.
He'll not consider a shopping trip unless he has secured a cast iron guarantee of a cafe stop and he likes to have negotiated where he'll be dining before we set out. He also likes to have thrashed out whether it's breakfast, brunch or just lunch, nothing is left to chance.
I've given up saying where I'd like to go, if we're off to Bath I just turn to him as we get into the car and say 'ok, where are we eating?' and he'll announce the day's choice. Fortunately some of my taste appears to have rubbed off on him so we're pretty compatible cafe goers.
He's such a bon viveur that he's now far more interested in the cafe stop than in the shopping or sight seeing. Before Christmas I took him and his older brother to see a truly beautiful light installation at a Bath museum. He thought it was quite pretty but was far more interested in getting into the cafe to see what it had to offer. He even rates them and has his own league table of his favourite spots.
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| Field of Light |
Next month we're off to New York, a city I've visited a few times and love. It'll be a first visit for the boys and they are beyond excited. I've been talking to them about the places we'll see and what we'll be doing. We've discussed taking a boat out to Liberty and Ellis Island; a wander through Central Park with a stop at the Boathouse; Macy's for a spot of retail therapy; the Empire State Building; Rockerfeller Center, Bryant Park, the Flatiron building, the Metropolitan Museum.
The little son has listened intently to it all but perked up visibly when I mentioned Tiffany's and how it was in one of my favourite films, Breakfast at Tiffany's.
'So mum, what's the cafe like there then?' he asked eagerly.
A distinct frown appeared on his little face when I told him that there isn't a cafe in Tiffany's, that it's a very famous jewellery store on Fifth Avenue.
'So if there's no cafe, why did she keep going there for breakfast then?' he replied.
Every year it's the same. Every bloody year. You'd think I'd learn by now, Pavlov would despair of me.
What am I talking about? Christmas and New Year food and drink overload, that's what. I sail into the festive season vowing that this year it'll be different.
Just remember, I say to myself annually and usually about December 20, that Christmas is really just a more elaborate Sunday roast with a couple of other meals tucked around it on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day. It'll be a breeze.....
Of course that's not exactly how it turns out. The house goes into the festive season groaning at the seams with enough food and drink to feed a small army or sit out a lengthy siege. What is it about Christmas that makes us buy food that we'd never normally give cupboard space to?
Why doesn't it feel right if there isn't a sizeable stash of mince pies in the cupboard, even if no-one even likes them? Every year my mother would buy that foul yellow pickle stuff and every year it would sit there untouched and end up at the back of the larder until several months later when someone stumbled across it and chucked it out.
Then there's the trifle, cakes, chocolates, puddings, cheeses, all the stuff that I try to avoid for the rest of the year but for some bizarre reason seem to think I can eat without any consequences over the Christmas period. What is even more ridiculous is that I shouldn't eat any of this because I have a decidedly wonky digestive system and it makes me ill.....but I still do.
It's as if some devil sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear 'of course that cake isn't going to go straight on your arse' or 'go on have that pudding, it's good for you, you're a growing girl'. Too right, by the time Christmas and New Year are over I have definitely grown - and not in a good way.
My body has now taken to taking matters into its own hands. It seems to realise that I've lost the plot yet again and to decide that it's had enough, in fact, way more than enough. It's as if it gets fed up with wondering when I might actually eat a vegetable again and loses patience with me on or around New Year's Day. That's about when I wake up feeling absolutely dreadful with aching joints, a stinking headache and craving water and salad, yes, salad.
Actually it's almost a relief when it does happen, suddenly lettuce never looked so good.
