Recently I had a week that seemed more food orientated that usual. I seemed to eat out more than usual the week of March 7, more so on the Wednesday. I was out having lunch at The Cherry Tree, with my friend Lara, a lovely time of good company and nice food was being had. As I bade her farewell, promising we’d do it again the following week my phone rang. “Hello,” I said. “Hey Baz,” my friend Colin said, “I’m running late, can we do lunch an hour later?” “Err, yes.” I stammered. I had completely forgotten I had arranged to meet him for lunch weeks before.So with thoughts of that Christmas special of the Vicar of Dibley going through my head, I headed off for my second lunch of the day.
I’m walking through town as the iPod shuffles and Skunk Anansie start to play ‘It Takes Blood and Guts’. I stop to look at the sign in the Indian restaurant window. I have read the sign many times, and it always makes me smile. It’s a list of customer reviews; oddly enough though none of them appear to have been written by anyone who’s native language is English. I’m not saying the owners have written the reviews as a form of self publicity, but here are a couple for you to make up your own mind. “I am coming every week with my family to the ******* and we are never having a bad meal.” and “We are eating here many time, the service is outstanding as are the foods.”
Thursday sees us in Morrisons, (not a supermarket I frequent, for personal reasons) and we decide to have one of their breakfasts. We are sat in a corner, the sunshine is glancing through the window and all is peaceful. That is until six men of pension age gather on a nearby table. The chatter is constant and each one seems to think it’s a competition to speak louder than the previous one. Being a fan of people watching and conversation snooping I take interest in the party. They all seem to be talking about how they spent the winter overseas, and there are a few gems that I hear.
Man 1: “Did you have a nice time in Lanzarote, Bill?”
Bill: “Nah, too bloody hot.”
Man 1: “Was it your first time there Bill?”
Bill: “Nah, we go every year.”
Man 2: “Where did you spend winter this year?”
Man 3: “Benidorm, but I don’t think we’ll go again.”
Man 2: “Why’s that?”
Man 3: “Prices have shot up, all down to that bleeding TV show, wife reckons.”
Ted: “We had a great time in Majorca didn’t we Arthur?”
Arthur: “Hey we did, didn’t we Ted?”
Ted: “Wives liked it too, didn’t they Arthur?”
Arthur: “They did, didn’t they Ted?”
Man 4: “What did you like about it?”
Ted: “They had optics in the bedroom mini bar, isn't that right Arthur?”
Arthur; “Yes they had optics didn’t they Ted?”
Saturday, and with the iPod doing it’s job I walk around the retail village at Trentham, with Angela McCluskey singing ‘Truth Is’ from her 'You Could Start A Fight In An Empty House Album: An album I’ve not made my mind up about yet. I take a trip into the farm shop to grab a few things when I spot some bottles of beer that had been featured on the TV a few evenings before. It’s a beer that is brewed at Shugborough Hall, a historic estate and stately home in Staffordshire. Shugborough Hall Website is here The TV show was saying that the beers called His Lordships Own and Mi Lady’s Fancy are very good, so I purchase a couple of bottles of this special for our special friends over in Italy.
I drive home iPod plugged in with KC and the Sunshine Band playing ‘Sound Your Funky Horn’, the sun is shining and all is good with the world. (Well for the time being, that is.)