Friday, 30 January 2009
On the top floor there is a cafe selling coffees, teas, teacakes and a variety of toasties. I so wanted the staff to go away while I photographed the old fashioned menu board. It looked like it had survived since the 1950s. I ordered a cheese and tomato toastie on brown bread and a cup of tea and then lied in order to get a photo of the cafe! Tee hee! I told the worried looking woman behind the counter that I had been there in the past (true) with a friend quite regularly (true) and I wanted to take a photo to show my 'friend' how it was these days (total lie) as the layout was different. "Worried of Nottingham" asked her work colleague and they grudgingly said 'yes' to my request. The customer in the corner (see photo) kept her head down in case I wanted her to model for me naked. Er, that's her naked, not me! Only kidding lady.
Today I called in at the John Lewis store in the Victoria Centre (Nottingham) around midday and got myself a cappuccino. It was pretty bustling with customers clashing mammoth green-striped John Lewis and Jaeger bags. Most of these customers were ladies who like to brunch and if the price of the fish, chips and peas is owt to go by the credit crunch hasn’t hit the LWLTB gang. We’ll come back to this in a second.
As I sat by the Patisserie (and I wrote that word in my journal so as not to get the spelling wrong) I felt almost shy of taking a photo and even of making notes. The diligent staff were everywhere, wiping tables, clearing tables and generally looking efficient in their black and green uniforms.
A Chinese family nearby dithered around undecided on what to eat and seemed to opt for the afore-mentioned fish, chips and peas. My profuse apologies I meant the beer battered fish, big fat chips and petit pois with half a lemon. £8.70 for goodness sake! And what is beer battered? Do they hit the poor fish with a bottle of stout?
This family of four sat and stared at one portion of this fish meal for a fair while and then hit a gong and span the prayer wheel. It’s either a Zen thing or maybe they were getting their monies worth. 'Pea for you, pea for me, pea for you...'
Then there were the young mums with young children practically playing dodgems with their four wheel drive versions of kids buggies and I witnessed a cute, excited little boy in his rugby style shirt and tweed trousers tugging on his dad’s arm. Judging from the bag the dad was carrying I think they had been to get the lads posh school uniform sorted out. “Ninety pounds for a school cap – that’s fine we’ll take a dozen, he’s a growing lad.”
One of the buggies has just brushed the table making it rock. The woman didn’t really notice me and pushed ahead with the cow bar on the front of the buggy in case of large mammal trouble in the haberdashery department.
Over in the corner a very small girl (about four or five) is swinging her tiny legs to and fro and sipping a drink with Nanny. She looks like a cartoon schoolgirl by Quinten Blake.
I have made my notes. The coffee wasn’t bad and whilst the clatter of plates and cups being stacked echoes around me I get my camera out and take a sneaky shot on the way out. I’m half expecting a hand on my shoulder, to be dragged into a side room and beer battered for espionage or only spending £2.75. Or maybe I’m just too wacky for my own good. Nanny! Where are you! Save me!
PS: Just for the record I never had a Nanny, right.
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
The deli is run by a genial fellow called Marcus and although he and the staff are often occupied with preparing the daily dishes (they do catering as well) he always has time to say “hello” and remembers his customers. The food may be special but this last aspect is, to me, a great sign of excellent customer service.
The small, oblong shaped venue has zinc counters to sit at along each side and a middle aisle unit exhibits a range of fine foods from fresh, on tap, olive oil to imported delicacies.
Today there was a great buzz about the place which in turn led to a great atmosphere to enjoy a late lunch in. After queuing for a few minutes I ordered a large tea and discussed my sandwich choice with one of the helpful staff. What should I have (and this was from a choice of about thirty plus combinations!). My thoughts were thus: ciabatta bread sandwich with prosciutto, mozzarella, basil,pesto and sliced plum tomatoes or walnut bread containing a confection of local Stilton, mango chutney and fresh green salad. Could you choose? I went for the first one and it was scrumptious.
Not only was the sandwich good when it came but it was a lovely change to see the sandwiches in general being prepared fresh rather than coming from a proverbial conveyor belt. I’ve been a regular here for years and never do the dishes disappoint. Sometimes I have just popped in for a coffee on the way to work and a hot buttered bagel. Bliss!
My large cup of tea was hot stuff indeed and I had to wait for it to cool so I busied myself chatting to the lady at the side of me who was probably wondering why I was taking the photos that accompany this blog!
Monday, 26 January 2009
All nice comments to his site please. He deserves them.
Oh my goodness! Where did it all go? All that time between my graduation in 1991 as a skinny performance Arts student and now? Happy where the days when I was creative all day and 'creative' all night (oh, naughty boy!). Gone were those halcyon days when all that mattered were the Arts and the theatre - and the rapidly dwindling student grant money in my impoverished bank account!
Yes, gone were the days when me and my 'forever to be' arty buddies earnestly idled time away in the YMCA cafe over a pot of hot stewed tea and a Yorkshire pudding dinner in their canteen. Well all except for the veggies and anti 'anything masculine' feminists, anyway. Sob, sob. :(
I went back today (Jan 2009) to try to capture that spirit of rebelliousness and embrace the 'stuffing dropping out of the easy chairs' moment and it was all replaced by glass and security and a brand new business eradicating the room where once we stood (or sat) and manned (or personed) the barricades of des Art Nouveau Anglaise. There was no Cafe des Arts!!!! No cabbage smell and cheap tea! No more , 'When do we need to have this dissertation in by?'
The Creative Arts course is all a past memory and now we have the Fine Arts and Fashion Courses in their place and the present cafe in the Bonnington Building is Fair Trade and muffin led. Well, at least the Fashion Course women are prettier! Voice from the past: (Oh you sexist!)
Sunday, 25 January 2009
As I gazed vacantly at the empty counters and the staff chatting together I was reminded of another time many years ago circa mid 1990s when the place was then called Cafe Lautrec - an arty reference no doubt to the famous crippled artist Toulouse Lautrec. My former girlfriend and I arrived one day to get something nice for lunch and a drink. They did great salads and lasagna. We also liked to look at the Art Gallery there.
I think the fact that, even though I had left Uni, I looked like a perennial Art student in my attire annoyed the woman owner. Although it was/is a University she didn't want some scruffy students cluttering up her posh cafe and when we went up to order some food she got stroppy and glared at us saying "Eat it up quickly and get out because we've got important people coming!"
We weren't even students! Not that is any reason to be so obnoxious. My ex girlfriend was fuming and sat at the table moaning about her rudeness. On the way out (and we deliberately took our time, tee hee) I said "No wonder it is called Cafe Lautrec - you have to crawl on your knees to get good service.
Saturday, 24 January 2009
Friday, 23 January 2009
I like this park for its lake and expansive grounds where one can sometimes experience the local deer population grazing on the golf course. Just had a mental image of the golf balls being caught in the curved antlers of the deer and them deliberately flicking the balls between them, Pelota style whilst perplexed golfers look on.
Pelota is a game played in France and Spain with curved bats and they hurl the balls against a wall at very high speed. My humour goes off at odd tangents sometimes! lol
Well this day I saw no deer or Pelota players but did bump into a student who was going about dressed as a warrior. I stopped to chat and he told me that he was part of a group from the nearby Nottingham University and he had come to the park to do some training with his warrior mates. I have called him a ‘warrior’ because I wasn’t sure which era he was dressed from – Norman perhaps. Maybe he was Norman the Norman!
Away from that terrible joke we move on up the avenue of oaks and to the top of the rise by the main hall and industrial museum. The Café in the Yard was very busy with families and I queued patiently inside. It was chilly outside and as I was in the mood for playing with words I went for the chilli at £5.00 a bowl and a coffee. I had to sit outside as indoors was the parking lot for pushchairs and hassled families. So I carried my dish outside after climbing over several muddy wheeled pushchairs and sat amongst the folk there with my bowl of chilli steaming in the cold air. It was really nice and great for making one’s nose run. You didn’t want to know that did you?
It didn’t take me long to polish that off and I carried on with my walk around the park and strolled further on to Wollaton Village where I discovered a house on the main street that had named itself The Thirty Nine Steps. I whipped out my camera to take a picture of the sign – like you do-and suddenly an angry Mr Richard Hannay called out from across the road and asked me to go away. Alas not in those words! Tut tut, what would John Buchan have said? And, where are those Norman warriors when you need them!?
Next time we have a brief visit to the dance of the chavs at the town centre Café Hockley.
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
Crossroads was probably the best as it was mostly filmed at the warm and cosy Central TV studios in Nottingham and the Central cafe would serve you and it was very reasonable in price and certainly less cold to sit around until you were called for your brief second of fame. See Crossroads link for my own personal account of those days back in 2001 and 2002.
It was a very random and unpredictable life-style but exciting/fun, all the same.
Stéphane originates from Corsica and his wife Louise from England and in 2004 she wrote a wonderful book about their life and her passion for French food and naturellement, the style of French Living. It is published by Piatkus Books and is called Come To The Table. You can buy a copy online or direct by popping into the venue.
I have lost count of the amount of times that I have sat in their café listening to the French music and nursing a café crème with a delicious filled baguette and dreaming that I was in Bordeaux or Paris or Nice. Then I had to return to work – c’est la vie!
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Monday, 19 January 2009
It was a Monday and 'apparently' Monday is a bit slow on the customer front and it was too early for the lunch crowd. On a notice board they were displaying a tidy photocopy of a report done in Feb 2007 by the Food Sleuth who operates from the Nottingham Evening Post. On his visit back then he had given the place a 5 star report and said he had thoroughly enjoyed his visit and the food was great and reported that the place was packed to the gills.
Today I opted for the pot of tea and a piece of meltingly nice buttered cake and a flirty chat with the old dears. They weren't too sure what a blog might be and we didn't broach the notion that Christ would have been a blogger - "Today I turned water into wine. The crowd seemed keener on that than the fish trick earlier." Sorry ladies, couldn't help myself!Naughty me!
Anyway, after finishing my tea the younger lady manager said it would be OK to take a picture of the premises as it might be good publicity and hoped I'd be back. Do you know what, I really think that sentiment was genuinely meant- and I will ladies- I will. Your cake was great and the atmosphere very welcoming. Thanks.
Chintzy backroom gossip ..”I heard this… she told me that.”
“Did you hear about…?”… “What’s he writing over there?”
“The dog had to have an anal injection.” “Really? Ouch!”
“It hates going to the vets. Never eats the biscuits they give him.”
Add some more sugar to the cup. Breeze catches the empty packet.
Broken match on the table. Broken marriage in the corner.
Laughter running up the stairs; a glass breaks in their kitchen.
I take a photo of the fish and chip shop. The shutter closes.
No-one bats an eyelid. Not even for a fraction of a second.
Lunchtime… Afternoon tea…Yorkshire Tea…Very English.
Cucumber sandwiches… White & Green…Watercress garnish.
Buttered fluffy fresh scone and raspberry jam with real pips.
Three pounds eighty-five. Table number five.
Jazz CD heard a thousand times by the young staff.
The sun breaks through outside; a couple shift into a dance.
Her heel is caught in the grate. He lifts her into the air.
A baggy denim shirt hides a figure too large;
Too many naughty weekend away English Breakfasts and
Hot croissants with butter; tempting as another chocolate.
Cascading tomato sauce, an oily pigeon fights a luke-warm chip.
A man slips on a Pukka pie. Arms and legs akimbo.
His fall taps a stationary car. Alarm boops electric signals
Falsely alerting the world to a state of theft.
The chip shop owner swears. “Fifth booping time today!”
If you fancy delving deeper into the mysteries of tea check out this site. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tea
Sunday, 18 January 2009
Big D’s Mushy peas - Hot peas and hot meals and beverages
I chatted with Big D (a very friendly lady) and one of her male customers about trade and the butchers/fishmongers side of the market. Her stand is a familiar and popular part of Nottingham’s indoor market but she said that trade isn’t what it was and four of the stands were currently empty because of the high rents. The fishmongers and butchers that used to operate from these vacant spaces have, allegedly gone to the indoor Market at Derby Eagle Centre. Initially I asked if I could take a photo of her stand and she shyly said “Yes, but not with me in it!” I stood and chatted with them for ten minutes and then took the photo. I think once we had got talking and on the same wavelength she was more inclined to be in the picture.
Café Victoria. - All day meals, snack, cakes and drinks. 2/3 course lunches made to order and fresh vegetables daily. Also does catering for special events.
At 2.30pm this sweet little café was empty of custom apart from two ladies and myself. The owner agreed to me taking a photo of the sauce containers for their typical English café nature and for the colour. I had a cup of tea here and read the paper about the airplane landing safely in Hudson Bay and not (thank heaven) smack bang in the middle of New York. I tried a sneaky picture of the owner having his own dinner several empty tables away but chickened out as he seemed to be aware of the camera pointing in his direction. Nice cuppa. I’ll be back sometime. It was only a pound too.
Aldo’s - Expresso, Latte & Cappuccino bar.
This seemed the busiest of all the eateries in the Market Hall with several folk seated around a continental bar all consuming their coffees and desserts. If this had been in any city in mainland Europe I imagine a few dry sherries, glasses of wine and beer would be on the menu as well. And perhaps some tapas. Now I’m hungry!
Frothy Coffee Café -Café serving hot and cold food and drinks and homemade pies
I loved the quaint name of this establishment but was stared out by a not so quaint old lady as I tried to photograph the premises. I have been past this establishment a few times in the past and they always seem busy – maybe its them homemade pies. Why did Sweeney Todd just come into my head. Sorry Frothy Coffee. ;0)
On this visit I never had time to investigate Pete’s Café - Coffee and sandwich bar and the Madhouse Café – Specialising in quality breakfasts and homemade meals.
Next time perhaps. Hmmm, now for some hot peas from Big D's!
If you go on a Thursday lunchtime for their 1.30pm showing (films vary dependant on the monthly programme) the joint is absolutely packed with those gentlefolk over the age of 60. The event is called Silver Screen and the oldies get to see a film at a discounted price and a free cup of tea or coffee afterwards. At their recent showing of Miss Pettigrew lives for a day the biggest screen (screen 1) was totally sold out. It must hold well over 500!
The Broadway cafe food varies from day to day in terms of what's on offer and often they will have a special night or two during the month where they match the food to the film. For example they had an Indian food night on Tuesday 13th Jan to work alongside the Indian based film Slumdog Millionaire.
I will sometimes pop in for a coffee of a morning if I am in town and it is only £1.30 plus a top up free if you feel like it. Plus it is a wifi cafe for those who like to tap away on a laptop.
At the back end of last week I decided to re-visit as part of generating interesting observations for this blog. Here are the notes I made as I sat with my tea and pen poised. Incidentally this particular morning there would have been about 50 people in and I would say that it could accommodate around 150. I tried to note take without staring or being obvious.
Directly in front of me are three big burly workman finishing off their drinks and big breakfasts. One of them likes to eat with his mouth wide open and his big breakfast churning around for all to see. I find it hard to look at him and yet hard to look away. All three are wearing grubby yellow and silver bibs to make them visible on their job outside. They have also discarded their plastic protective helmets. The youngest of the three sits at an angle and follows the legs of anyone leaving with his leery eyes. He also has a rather scary grin and a gold tooth. You wouldn't want to mess with him. He has a big tatoo covering most of his neck. I think I'll go over and ask him what it depicts. (joke)
The chill wind comes through an opening door and tickles the Sundae Suprise card to the right of me. The card is propped up against a pretend Japanese style tree and advertises 'Chocolate dream delight, Strawberry dream delight and Banana and Toffee dream delights.' Over in the far corner by the window I can see a frail looking woman gazing out of the window in her own mental state of dreamy delight.
The three builders suddenly laugh at something and gather up their helmets and jackets and copies of the Sun and Daily Mirror and leave. Mr Tatoo leaves a trail of dribble.
As they go out two other people wobble in through the entrance nearest me. They are huge. I presume that they are man and wife and the woman must be at least 20 stone. The man following behind her is a big thick set man and they both have moustaches. She sits herself down on a seat that almost takes fright as she approaches and he's going off to order. She seems to like paisley designs as they make up most of her attire.
One of the staff, a young woman, mops up the builders table. She is wearing all black with a cap like the rest of the staff. They seem very organised here and must deal with a large amount of customers during the day, a good proportion of them regulars. Ooops, she is coming over - journal away for now.
Safe again. Mr Moustache returns and is carrying two very large mugs of milky coffee. He puts them down and once he is seated they both take a slurp. I hope that I am not around to see the coffee get cold and the milk start to cling to their moustaches.
The frail woman has come out of her dreamy state and is now talking to her mobile phone. It isn't up in the classic position by her ear and mouth. She is holding it in front of her and talking at it.
I'll drink the rest of the tea and go now.
Thursday, 15 January 2009
PS: If you an early bird and just want a bacon sandwich. They do stop serving breakfast items at 11am.
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
The plated breakfast sat on my tray for three or four minutes while the sole assistant dithered about with a fried egg and then came to the till to serve me.
The main breakfast wasn't that hot in temperature and the tea was scolding. I felt obliged to take a picture just so you can see the meal. I probably won't go back again.
I have no idea what the sausage was made of and the hash brown was a bit crusty.
Monday, 12 January 2009
Saturday, 10 January 2009
Lee Rosey’s is a small independent tea shop and café opposite the Broadway cinema and I have been a fair few times in the past. Formerly it would have been in my hour dinner break and by the time I had arrived at the venue I would have about half an hour to nurse a cup of hot Earl Grey tea. On the way back to work my teeth would be throbbing from the quickly drunk hot beverage and regrets would be forming in my head that I couldn’t stay longer. I’m a little freer these days.
Today I settled for a gigantic honey roast ham, mayo, tomato and salad sandwich that I took to the seats by the window. On the side wall to the left of me are loads of indi posters for bands and courses. There is one for a singer called Françoiz Breut http://www.last.fm/music/Fran%C3%A7oiz+Breut who has a gig at La Bodega that looks very appealing. Another hand written poster is promoting guitar and bass lessons and has one tatty tear off phone number left hanging on the sheet.
A track by Joanna Newson is playing as I bite into my fresh sandwich. The track is called Monkey and Bear and I keep getting images of my toy monkey ‘Monka’ dancing around, flickering through my brain.
From across the road, coming out the main doors for the Broadway comes a man I once met through the Theatre Writing Partnership.
He is called Finton and waves as he passes the window and disappears from my peripheral view. I take another bite and am suddenly surprised by him appearing at my side. He offers to buy me a cuppa and then we have an interesting ‘writers’ chat about writing for film, the theatre and blogging with intent. Interesting guy, and I think that it was fate that I chose to come this venue today. He also made some very positive comments about my adaptation of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol that recently successfully played at the Lace Market Theatre.
Another surprise was a tap on the shoulder from a man called Miles Chalcraft who I knew many years ago from University. He told me that he is currently artistic director for a symposium running at the Broadway and other Nottingham venues. I always like to hear of friends’ successes and it was good to see Miles’ smiling face after so many years.
Finton had to go and I had another look at the posters and I am intrigued by one advertising a workshop. It claimed the following:
Everyone needs to have fun.
Two day workshop celebrating laughter, play, games and fun.
Learn new games.
Learn how to laugh for no reason.
Re-capture childhood spontaneity.
Boost your health, happiness and energy.
Another poster amongst the thousands big and small, new and crumpled was a poster for Capoeira classes and featured a man spinning around upside down on one hand.
I finished my cup of tea, got down off the seat, put on my coat and hat, cart wheeled out of the door and hopped down Broad Street on one hand whilst laughing for no reason. I’ll be back Lee Rosey’s tea shop.
Next time I visit a caff and try out the bacon sarnies. Join me.
Friday, 9 January 2009
So here I am with my small cappuccino coffee at Costa Coffee. They have these saucers here that the indentation for the cup is off to one side, not in the middle. This makes carrying your coffee to the table pretty precarious. The tidy part of me wants to see the cup safely resting in a central position and I end up tilting the drink towards me, convinced that I am, that something is not right in the dynamics. Maybe I should have paid the young guy with my two pound coins balancing dangerously on the end of my finger-tips or on the back on my neck. Next time I could take in a mini tight rope walking kit and flip the coins whilst balancing in mid air. And back to reality…
When I was asked if I wanted chocolate on the froth I declined and somehow through juggling purse and change I managed to let loose a bus ticket which landed bang in the centre of my cup and thus sat like a paper sailing ship adrift in a sea of milky bubbles. I joked with the serving guy about bus tickets being the new ‘in thing’ to decorate one’s cappuccino. Maybe that’s what they mean when they call “One small cap to go”. Er, bus ticket = to go. Never mind.
Sitting with my off kilter coffee I had a sly look around at my coffee shop neighbours. There was a crumpled old man with long grey hair slouched in the corner by the window, the fringes of the palm tree eerily matching the fringes of his bushy eyebrows. He was wearing a bright red top and his eyes were scanning his paper. Suddenly an image of my deceased father came into my head and the title of his daily journalistic bible ‘The Sporting Chronicle’. I found myself wondering if this racing journal still existed and then tried to get the image out of my head because the two things, my dad and the paper, were now conjoined. I began to picture him sitting on the loo, trousers round his ankles, ‘picking his horses’ as my mother used to quote. Out bad picture… out!
On the table next to me a woman who looked decidedly Spanish confused me by speaking in German with her friend while her young child clutched a plastic drinks bottle containing juice of a vivid purple hue. I had momentarily looked away to observe two middle-aged sisters in conversation when the child dropped the bottle and an explosion of gooey purple rained down upon the earth, the chair legs, the cabinet of expensive cakes, and the bookshelves and the M&S clothes bag by their feet.
Supermuffin, the hero of the hour, flew from his post behind the counter and mopped away the offending drink contents faster than a tip hitting the bottom of his trouser pocket. I almost wanted to applaud. Is it a plane, is it a bird … und so weiter.
Back to observing the two middle-aged sisters, each bespectacled and uniform in their body warmers. One had a puce yellow drink of something sickeningly healthy and the other a glass of water and now I found myself hypnotised by their amazing joint mastication. Yes you read that correctly, no smut in this coffee shop. Both their jaws were chomping away on carrot cake and mirroring the other exactly. I don’t think even the bottle exploding incident had put them off their stride. They finished by simultaneously licking their lips, in a chorus of approval.
On another table further back, a large lady in a heavy black winter coat and paisley scarf was trying to devour a whole lemon drizzle muffin – three inches wide and four deep – in one fell swoop. The last time I saw a mouth open quite that wide was in a famous Spielberg film about a very dangerous fish.
The place was about half-full or half-empty dependent on one’s philosophy, and I could hear a general hubbub of noise from low-key chat. I never caught the thrust of any one conversation but noted down some random aural gems for fun.
“skipping about… smile on his face… so what did he say about that?” then “got married… took her phone number… and I can guarantee…” and “worst flat there was … literally… you’d hear about it…basically…” and finally “meine mutter… lieber Gott…”
All this chatter was interrupted by the pre-mentioned large lady having a violent sneezing fit and Mrs Jaws let loose a sudden shower of soggy cake crumbs which she tried to catch mid-air with the paisley scarf. In vain.
As she scuttled off choking in the direction of the toilets the man in the corner sucked in some more stale air to keep himself alive. It proved just enough to read the next page of his paper and then he wiped a sheen of soggy lemon drizzle muffin from his brow.
I put my pen and journal away, sipped the remnants of my coffee and haunted the bookshop for ten minutes.
Tomorrow I’ll go to Lee Rosey’s tea shop.
See you there.
Thursday, 8 January 2009
Coffee in its many and varied guises ranging from ‘all froth and no substance’ to a milky mouthful of mocha is now out there on every street corner, earning its purveyors a fair few beans. Wherever humankind can possibly cram another Starbucks or Prêt à Manger into an available nook or cranny of real estate its addicts will flock there. As I write this first blog from home the cappuccino cravers will be plumping up the leather armchairs by the shop window and dreaming of overdrafts needed to pay for the next round.
Why am I writing this blog?
Well, I thought that I would have some fun and observe life from the inside not only in the major players emporiums of caffeine and almond flaked croissants but also the lowly caff; home to steamy windows, a mug of strong tea and a chip butty… eight sugars in the tea please, duck.
Notes for American readers:
Caff rhymes with gaff which means home (my gaff) and a caff can be a home from home for some. Bit like a diner, or on second thoughts, maybe not.
A chip butty is a cob full of chips.
Chips are fries but fatter and made of real potatoes traditionally deep-fried in lard or beef dripping. Do not confuse these delicious morsels with any of those anorexic pretenders from Mc Donalds.
The term butty refers to butter and not a polite term for a bottom or ‘fanny’ as you guys like to say.
A cob is a round article of fluffy white bread, usually sliced in half for fillings and the word cob has nothing to do with corn on the cob or ‘having a cob on’ which is another thing entirely. Bap is another word for cob. I’m confusing you now, aren’t I?
To even further confuse the matter you could ask for a chip sarnie. That’s chips in buttered white sliced bread. Sarnie means sandwich. These are not available in Harrods try as you might at the deli counter.
‘Duck’ is an East Midlands (that’s Robin Hood country) term of affection e.g. How’re you doin’ me duck? Elizabeth, Queen of England never uses this expression but she does allegedly eat duck.
Well, I hope that is all clear now.
Tomorrow I go on my first blogging trip to a caff or coffee shop to see what I can report. Yay!