My 6-year-0ld self, - overcome with awe,

listens to the rumble and the rattle

as looms, majestically swept in unison,

back and forth across the vast mill floor.

Turbaned women shouted above the din

unperturbed by the continual motion.

 

Then on to the old covered market,

clutching my wicker, child-sized basket

and getting lost among the myriad of legs,

unnerved by rough forceful voices

competing in selling their wares

underscoring the complexity of choices.

But we were heading for the hot 'Vimto' stall

"it does you good" I was told

but I didn't like it.

 

We moved further into the depths

and the bustle increased becoming a crush,

I hated the noise and the rush

but I was promised a treat,

"The best ice cream in the world"

jiggling on tired legs, I anticipated

"The best ice cream in the world"

Tognarelli's no less, but was it the best?

one twopenny cone gave me a headache,

                                            then we went home.