Self portrait … one of many!

Miss M has a love/hate relationship with the Saturday fruit and vegetable market. Well, any kind of shopping involving food or household items really. Strange really, for someone so delighted by eating, but I learned to stop questioning strange anomalies in her behaviour some years ago.

Now we’re into hardcore budget territory, the market has assumed even more importance than just hanging out and having coffee with our neighbours and any other local people we might run into. The difference in price and quality to the supermarket is astounding, and it’s fun to buy things from people who’ll interact with you, to take back egg cartons you’ve kept from last week, and have the best bunch of baby beetroot (pardon my alliteration) picked out for you by the man who grew it.

Every Saturday, Miss M without fail says “I don’t want to go to the market”, knowing she has very little choice. Every Saturday without fail, I say “We’re going to the market”. Then I fast forward to bribery. Our neighbour Harry adores Miss M, and buys her any treat she wants from the coffee/cake stall, then takes her to the swimming pool to have a look around (he’s the plumbing contractor for the pool) and say hi to everyone there - especially Jerry, the spunky guy who works on reception. I remind her of all these things, and she still says she doesn’t want to go.

Finally we get organised, grab the trolley, masses of tissues (in case of a babycino spill), a bottle of water, and the list I’ve spent ages crafting, and go next door to Harry and Mieke’s. As soon as their front door opens, Miss M is “on”. She’s charming, hilarious and having a blast. It’s her job to unlock Harry’s car, open the huge garage door, and today, work out how to put the power windows up (it was freezing!). While we were driving down, Harry gave her an informal lesson in how to drive a manual car, and was very impressed when he realised she already knew everything he was telling her about gears, brakes and accelerators.

Once we’ve socialised and it’s time for shopping, my miniature friend is the one who chooses the produce, crosses things off on the list, and decides which of several fruit types we’ll have this week. She’s also started handing over cash, which she loves more than anything. Today she brought her own money and bought me flowers, which she chose on her own while Harry and I were waiting in the coffee line. They’re truly gorgeous, but the pride on her face was even more so.

So she loves every moment of the whole experience - even the walk home with our laden trolley, as we spot cats, say hi to her friends going to kick footballs at the park and chat about various important weekend events. But I know without a doubt, next Saturday at 8.30am the whole thing will start again. I realised this morning the complaining is just another part of the routine - and I think she likes messing with my mind.

Today I’m loving: the crazy menu at NK Cafe - I’m going back to try the apricot and jam