Whilst making my mind up between the many indulgent delights in a high-street bakery, I overheard a conversation between a mother and her young child.
'There are three colours in a rainbow!' the child loudly proclaimed out of nowhere. To which the mother replied, 'Don't be silly. There are eight colours in a rainbow.'
I struggle to say a kind word about this country's previous administration, but I had a strong urge to turn to the woman and shout, 'Education, education, education!' I only wish I could be there the next time she sits down with her offspring and a picture book and begins helping him to count the rainbow's colours. And no doubt scientists would like to know what that eighth one is; who knows, it could be as significant as the elusive particles they're looking for in the Large Hadron Collider, that ultimate big boys' toy.
Instead, I plucked a chicken mayo baguette from the shelf and said nothing. Later, at Asda (other supermarkets are available) I found myself buying the biggest frozen chicken I could find, and realised that the first random craving of my pregnancy might just have kicked in.
It hadn't, as it turned out. But since then, two cravings do seem to have taken a firm grip on my daily dietary intake and assumed control of a whole shelf in the fridge. I am now at the mercy of rice pudding and custard. Not at the same time, I hasten to add, but in equal measures.
The shame of it is that I'm not even making my own. I could, and indeed often do, but life is busy and when a craving for either hits me the last thing I want to do is have to make it myself. So there is now a sizeable collection of (I say it with shame) tins of custard and rice pudding in our kitchen.
True, wandering around Asda and filling a corner of the trolley with 17p tins of own-brand rice pudding and custard doesn't feel good. Usually I wouldn't stoop so low. Speaking of which, could we please have it on a slightly higher shelf rather than at almost floor level? The pitying smile as all those cheap tins beep their way over the scanner is bad enough, without having had to almost go down on my knees to get them in the first place. I'll pile them high if you will!
But it turns out that custard is a secret love that hangs over from the treats of childhood well into our adult lives. Think about it; when dining out, custard is seldom seen on any menu, even as an option, and it's not something any of us ever mention when talking about food. But there I was, texting a friend the other afternoon, when I happened to mention these new cravings and he instantly craved custard himself. You see? We never grow out of it. It's a moreish secret treat.
And thus one of the rules of motherhood that I shall be instigating during my child's life is simply this. Custard's too good for children; it's ours!
'There are three colours in a rainbow!' the child loudly proclaimed out of nowhere. To which the mother replied, 'Don't be silly. There are eight colours in a rainbow.'
I struggle to say a kind word about this country's previous administration, but I had a strong urge to turn to the woman and shout, 'Education, education, education!' I only wish I could be there the next time she sits down with her offspring and a picture book and begins helping him to count the rainbow's colours. And no doubt scientists would like to know what that eighth one is; who knows, it could be as significant as the elusive particles they're looking for in the Large Hadron Collider, that ultimate big boys' toy.
Instead, I plucked a chicken mayo baguette from the shelf and said nothing. Later, at Asda (other supermarkets are available) I found myself buying the biggest frozen chicken I could find, and realised that the first random craving of my pregnancy might just have kicked in.
It hadn't, as it turned out. But since then, two cravings do seem to have taken a firm grip on my daily dietary intake and assumed control of a whole shelf in the fridge. I am now at the mercy of rice pudding and custard. Not at the same time, I hasten to add, but in equal measures.
The shame of it is that I'm not even making my own. I could, and indeed often do, but life is busy and when a craving for either hits me the last thing I want to do is have to make it myself. So there is now a sizeable collection of (I say it with shame) tins of custard and rice pudding in our kitchen.
True, wandering around Asda and filling a corner of the trolley with 17p tins of own-brand rice pudding and custard doesn't feel good. Usually I wouldn't stoop so low. Speaking of which, could we please have it on a slightly higher shelf rather than at almost floor level? The pitying smile as all those cheap tins beep their way over the scanner is bad enough, without having had to almost go down on my knees to get them in the first place. I'll pile them high if you will!
But it turns out that custard is a secret love that hangs over from the treats of childhood well into our adult lives. Think about it; when dining out, custard is seldom seen on any menu, even as an option, and it's not something any of us ever mention when talking about food. But there I was, texting a friend the other afternoon, when I happened to mention these new cravings and he instantly craved custard himself. You see? We never grow out of it. It's a moreish secret treat.
And thus one of the rules of motherhood that I shall be instigating during my child's life is simply this. Custard's too good for children; it's ours!
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