Monthly Archives: April 2013

Boomerang bureaucracy . . .


It’s bureaucracy gone mad. MAD I tell you! Why would a chain of supermarkets be so anti-boomerangs?

And why has no-one spoken up until now?

The signs have been there for a while. But I just can’t figure out why you would ban something that has never even happened. I mean, when was the last time you saw a boomerang being thrown in a supermarket car park?

Yes, I agree, there is the risk of damage to vehicles, individuals and possibly lamp posts. But all in all, it’s a pretty harmless sport, especially after some practice. And where better to practice than a wide open supermarket car park? They’re meant to come back, right? If you’re good at it, that boomerang won’t hit anything except the palm of your hand.

And in this day and age of over-eating, under-exercising and over-thinking, I would have thought a little car park sport would be welcomed.

It’s safer than trolley racing, more fun that gutter balancing and just as skilful as dodging cars driven by hunger-crazed motorists whose only thought is to get home and tuck into that box of Tim Tams they’ve hidden at the bottom of their green bag. I’ve been there. I understand your pain.

Some may call it pro-active. I beg to differ.Snettisham, Norfolk - No right turn sign

Even my five-year old has an opinion on this. He’s tugging at my sleeve as I fume at the sign before me.

“It’s not a boomerang, Mum. It’s a traffic sign. You can’t turn here.”


So boomerang throwing isn’t banned in car parks? Hmm. Perhaps we should try it.


Oh, Miguel! Where are you?


P3101501 (Photo credit: a_b_normal123)

I didn’t plan it this way. When I woke up this morning, it didn’t even cross my mind. But just a few hours later I found myself standing in line buying a book I didn’t want, just to get an autograph I never knew I needed.

Perhaps it was the delectable Spanish accent that kept me waiting in line for so long. Maybe it was the whole tall-dark-handsome thing or the roguish smile and cheeky sense of humour.

All I know is that I paid $30 for a book about Spanish cooking that I will probably never use. And let’s face it – this is no audio-book. So we don’t even get to hear that Spanish-English accent that makes Miguel Maestre so appealing.

That said, my kids were pretty chuffed about meeting a celebrity chef. So we stood in line as countless women before us got the kiss on both cheeks and the signature we so desperately wanted.

Then it was our turn. Miguel Maestre stood before us, pen in hand, smile at the ready. But before he could reach for our book, there was a whisper in his ear. He was needed for a taste-test. Could we wait just a minute?

“Sure,” I said. The kids had waited this long, a few more minutes wouldn’t kill us.

Moments passed and a woman appeared where Miguel should have been. He was going to be another hour. The taste-test had turned into a cook-off. Could we come back?

Probably not, I thought to myself. “Sure,” I said and turned away.

The couple behind me stepped forward. “Oh, but we’re leaving,” they gushed. “Could we just get his autograph?”

“Follow me,” said the woman while I stood back, just a little bit annoyed.

Minutes later, the couple re-appeared. He was smiling. She was glowing. What on earth had gone on back there?

Having never planned to buy Miguel’s book, much less get his autograph, I was now oddly peeved.

What to do? I gave up. There was no way I was entertaining three kids while we waited for Miguel to finish cooking.

But my husband was not so easily put off. He sat through that cooking demonstration, lined up with the throngs of excited fans and got that autograph.

The only thing he didn’t get was the double kiss. Oh well. The book is signed. It’s on a shelf. Mission accomplished.