Wasn’t it me who only a few days ago said I wouldn’t be going back to Notting Hill Carnival? Umm, so why did I find myself yesterday afternoon packed like a tin of sardines being carried along with the crowds on Portobello Road? Yup, I succumbed. It took only a few persuasive phone calls from my cousin and there I was heading to our designated meeting place, bringing Khy along for the journey. The good news: it wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be, and to my surprise Khy wasn’t at all frightened by the crowds or the noise, and on the contrary was bopping along to the sounds of Donaeo like a carnival pro. The bad news: it was long. We spent the whole day walking for miles trying to find the floats with the flamboyant costumes and before you knew it Khy started to get really tetchy. Things got progressively worse when he announced that he needed to go to the toilet and needed to go quickly. Anyone who has ever been to an event of that size knows that’s an impossible feat. But my son being my son refused to empty his bladder in a discreet place “Mum, I can’t, everyone will see my bum bum”. So instead I headed to the yucky Porto loos where there was a ridiculously long queue, and I knew there was no way he would hold out for that long. My only other option was to use a shop or someone’s house. Sounds like the perfect solution, but the catch is of course you have to pay for the privilege. The places I came across were charging anywhere between the region of £1 to £3. I know - blue murder! Eventually we came across this lovely looking Notting Hill apartment where the man at the gate uttered the magic words “kids go free”. I virtually pushed Khy through the doors before he changed his mind, and voila - problem solved. Or so I thought. After rejoining my fam and anticipating at least a couple of hours of dancing, my son simply decided he had enough. All it took was me refusing his request for an ice cream before he embarked on one set of wailing that could be heard above the booming sound systems. That was it. Enough. I promptly said goodbye to my carnival crew, headed to the nearest train station and was home in an hour or so nursing the biggest headache and sore feet. What is it they say about always trusting your instincts?
- I am a thirty-something African Caribbean female from South East London. My blog will shine a light on Black British culture offering the best in entertainment, fashion, beauty, community, film & music, with the occasional personal musing thrown in from yours truly. Thank you for taking out the time to peek into the pages of my diary. Now grab a cup of cocoa, relax and enjoy.