The sound of joy and laughter fluttered up from the square below; it was utterly infectious.
We laid down the gauntlet to ourselves: over a series of holidays we would traverse the four corners, the quadrants, of Iceland. The first on the list was the south west: Suðurland and Reykjanes.
Imagine my surprise when we went to our local supermarket, to buy a new pair of school shoes for my daughter. The horror.
I know that some people find online food shopping an absolute boon: it takes a large time sink of a task out of their busy schedule. Good on them. I hate it.
I don’t suppose you remember Easter, do you? It was a long time ago now: a slightly faded memory, like yesterday, through an Instagram filter. The main thing I remember is the chocolate: for a month or three all of the chocolate in all of the shops came in the shape of a freshly laid egg. Then it didn’t.
I wasn’t born in Whitley Bay, nor did I grow up here. I chose to move here when it came time to raise a family. It’s that kind of place: safe, cosy, aspirational.
The anonymity the internet-based consumer culture we revel in affords us the ability to no longer look business owners in the eye when we search for our better deals.