Bolton Food and Drink Festival

Enjoyed the splishy-splashy rain during the culinary delights of Bolton.

After being accosted by some amorous street performers as French chefs, The Boyfriend and I managed the swarms of people, puppies, and kids. There were Chinese noodles, Mexican nachos, Polish sausages, Spanish churros, Fish 'N' Rice, and unusual meat burgers. Plus artisan stalls selling handmade soaps (got a nice goat's milk and aloe vera bar that is supposedly very good for soothing skin), carved wooden figures, handmade jewellery, and, strangely, knock-off Adidas tracksuits with the logo replaced with the cannabis leaf and the word ADDICTED. 

I had a kangaroo burger, which apparently has 2% fat (all that jumping that Skippy does), but tasted very rich (apparently like venison?). 

I nipped into WHSmiths to grab a travel book for a holiday next year, and a little old member of staff on the basement floor saw me browsing for some time, saw me grab the book I wanted and make for the lift. She shouted at me to stop and asked where I was going. 

Me: Upstairs. To pay. 

Her: No. You pay here. 

Me: No, I'm getting some drinks upstairs as well.  

Her: You put it in this basket now. Before you go.

I dutifully put the book in the shopping basket and scowled all the way in the lift. I grabbed the bottles of pop and mentioned to the cashier I felt a little insulted that I'd been treated like a potential shoplifter. I said I'd regularly been in the shop to get books from the basement and preferred to pay in one hit upstairs so I could look at magazines and get my favoured energy drinks. I said I appreciated she was watching the store on a busy day, but frankly, an older couple or professionally-dressed person would not have been questioned (I have tattoos, wear jeans and have a fade on the side of my head). To my surprise, the cashier was angry and said, 'Oh, yeah, I know her,' and radioed for the manager who turned up straight away. I reiterated my confusion/anger and he also seemed angry. I basically summed it up as, 'I'm a professional adult who has no need or desire to shoplift and I very much resent the stereotyping.'

Bit odd. But there we go. Some older generations see me and think, 'Scruff.' Some older generations smile at me and say how much they like my tops. Mad. 

So, here's some pretty pictures to show how nice the rest of the day was.