When I travel, I hardly ever shop, preferring to either A. explore the area until I get lost and then cry trying to find my way home, or B. finding a little café to read and write the time away. On my trip to England, however, I went with my mom and aunts to walk around the shops in Bridgwater. My aunt works in a bakery there, so after she showed us the way, we were left to our own devices.
We wandered around the bookshops, gift shops, and second-hand stores. I found multiple little jewelry trinkets for my daughter, while it was much more difficult to find something for my son or husband. You can’t go wrong shopping for a 7-year-old girl.
My mom said, “Cards are much less expensive in England. Make sure you get a bunch. I always stock up.”
Cards? Who goes to England to shop for –cards?
Oh yes, I remembered trips to England when we were younger; she’d pick up a bunch of giant-sized cards, which were a novelty at the time as we hadn’t seen them elsewhere. I picked out some cards—I’d be a fool not to partake in the deal of the century!
We stopped by the supermarket to get some chips for our fish and chips. Branston Pickle was on sale for a pound. A mere pound, I say. In the States, I paid five bucks for the little jar and here it was only a pound for the Big One. My mom said Get one for me. It’s the small curd, even better for sandwiches!
We spent the next couple of hours buying random crap. On the walk back, we meandered all the weird twisty walkways and public paths, trying to retrace my aunt’s steps. My mom and aunt argued about which way to go when we ran into unfamiliar territory.
“Now you know where you get your bad sense of direction from.”
“Now I know where I get my bickering gene from, too.”
We’re going back to town to get some more, um—cards. Maybe we can sell them on the black market back home where hopefully, there’s a huge demand for cheap foreign cards.
Living on the edge, baby!