My Nan would have loved Costco

Growing up, we had two nannies: Big Nanny and Little Nanny. Little Nan belonged to my mum and was short, slim, well groomed, Welsh, wore nice shoes, shouted at the wrestling on a Saturday, made milk jelly and sniffed in disgust at almost everything my grandad did. Big Nan was almost the opposite.

I was responsible for their names and I’ve often wondered how my Dad felt, explaining to his mum that I called her big. Although, thinking about it now I know that she would have just laughed, gathered me up in her enormous bosom for a hug and agreed that she was, indeed, big. To a little girl like me, that side of the family were like jolly giants, with my Dad only appearing normal because he was the runt of the litter.

Big Nan never recovered from the war. Some people suffered shell shock, were bombed out of their houses or lost husbands but my Nan never recovered from rationing. Even into the 1980s her larder was stacked with essentials, particularly sugar.

My mum’s wonderful neighbours have taken pity on my sister and I and are catering the funeral party. Yesterday, they took us to Costco to stock up. We were both Costco virgins and a little anxious about the trip as neither of us are enthusiastic shoppers. We were also going in the morning, which was a worry. We were probably right to be concerned. My sister wandered round saying things like, “They sell tents. Shall we get a tent?” and finding bits of chicken to eat.

“It’s a shop for giants,” I thought out loud, which earned me a look from a passing couple, who were larger than average. I wasn’t looking at them, though. The trollies were huge, there were olive trees for sale in the foyer that wouldn’t look out of place on a Greek hillside, food came in huge packets, birthday cakes serve 48 people and even the Belgian buns were the size of my head. I’m not sure how effective we were at shopping. We did fill two trollies and I don’t think we bought a tent.


At one point during the shop, I think I was possessed by Big Nanny. She saw the bags of sugar. “Go on,” she said, “You’ll need those if you are going to make cake. You can never have too much sugar and just look how cheap it is. You’d almost pay that for a small bag.”
I was powerless to resist. “I would have loved Costco,” her ghostly voice whispered in my ear.