We tried...
Aug. 2nd, 2007 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stephbgHave just got back from the Hyde Park Hotel where we went to cheer on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
harveystoat in the final of a comedy competition. Unfortunately I failed to anticipate that other people might have wanted to do the same thing, and had made better advance arrangements than I.
We arrived at about 7:00pm and queued up to order food. We then began the apparently hopeless task of looking for a table. I hadn't expected the performance area to be filled with rows of chairs instead of tables, so seating was strictly limited. Oops.
After a bit of helpless wandering about I thought perhaps we could at least grab some chairs in the performance area. At the door I discovered that the performance was sold out, but we went on a waiting list and I was told to try again at 7:45pm. While I was doing this we'd split the party and Husband had continued the hunt for some kind of semi-civilised eating surface. When I returned to the bistro he'd managed to secure a table previously occupied by a couple of old blokes who had looked like they'd been there since the war. The Crimean or Boer perhaps.
"What happened to the two old guys?" I asked Husband, gratefully yet suspiciously.
"They just left" said Husband.
Never to be seen again? I pondered, and dropped the subject quickly and quietly. I Didn't Really Want To Know.
So we sat, defended our table from all comers and watched the "Now Serving" video display with all the focus of a bingo night crowd the week before pension day. Indeed, neighbours at other tables were heard to cry "Bingo!" before leaping counter-wards with receipts flying. In a burst of parochial pride I voiced the occasional "Come In Spinner".
We were #65. We conjectured on the scene in the kitchen as we observed 45, 12, 4, 70, 51, 56, 68, 80 etc etc fly by. Perhaps this was the source of The Numbers from Lost. I had ordered the calamari, Husband the lamb. At first we joked that they were still hunting the octopus. After a while we wondered if the mummy and daddy sheep were still getting to know each other better.
While we waited we played "spot the contestant". This was a standup competition of some sort, so we figured the chances of youngsters talking about their parents, school, poo or--at a pinch--University, were high. I'm sure I spotted a few suspiciously well-groomed, nervous types clutching pieces of paper, the odd white-knuckled beer and the reassurance of more relaxed-looking friends. I heard one suspect apologise to a large table of friends for dragging them down there only to have them miss out on tickets. It seems we were Not Alone.
When our number came up Husband lept out of his chair, tipping it over in his rush to claim sustenance. I'm pretty sure we couldn't resist a united and triumphant cry of "Bingo!". I remained behind to defend our furniture. We had agreed to share our table if someone asked, but I avoided all eye contact and we retained sovereignty. What can I say? I'm a cat.
The food. Well. Calamari is always a bit of a risk, but when it is literally impossible to cut through a crumbed and fried ring of the stuff, I classify it as ordinaire. The size of the rings was also a bit of a giveaway (How big? An amusingly large size. You figure it out). Accompanied by cold dead chips and a gesture of salad I could only compare it sadly with the food adventures ofredbraids in Barcelona, or almost anyone else's lj food postings. Husband liked his chops, but then his food standards are low. Very low. This is a man who will voluntarily eat service station meat pies.
Unfortunately I'd long since realised that my neck was not going to tolerate any more time in a bistro or pub plastic chair of any description, so we abandoned our table, the long queue for the door and escaped.
harveystoat in the final of a comedy competition. Unfortunately I failed to anticipate that other people might have wanted to do the same thing, and had made better advance arrangements than I.We arrived at about 7:00pm and queued up to order food. We then began the apparently hopeless task of looking for a table. I hadn't expected the performance area to be filled with rows of chairs instead of tables, so seating was strictly limited. Oops.
After a bit of helpless wandering about I thought perhaps we could at least grab some chairs in the performance area. At the door I discovered that the performance was sold out, but we went on a waiting list and I was told to try again at 7:45pm. While I was doing this we'd split the party and Husband had continued the hunt for some kind of semi-civilised eating surface. When I returned to the bistro he'd managed to secure a table previously occupied by a couple of old blokes who had looked like they'd been there since the war. The Crimean or Boer perhaps.
"What happened to the two old guys?" I asked Husband, gratefully yet suspiciously.
"They just left" said Husband.
Never to be seen again? I pondered, and dropped the subject quickly and quietly. I Didn't Really Want To Know.
So we sat, defended our table from all comers and watched the "Now Serving" video display with all the focus of a bingo night crowd the week before pension day. Indeed, neighbours at other tables were heard to cry "Bingo!" before leaping counter-wards with receipts flying. In a burst of parochial pride I voiced the occasional "Come In Spinner".
We were #65. We conjectured on the scene in the kitchen as we observed 45, 12, 4, 70, 51, 56, 68, 80 etc etc fly by. Perhaps this was the source of The Numbers from Lost. I had ordered the calamari, Husband the lamb. At first we joked that they were still hunting the octopus. After a while we wondered if the mummy and daddy sheep were still getting to know each other better.
While we waited we played "spot the contestant". This was a standup competition of some sort, so we figured the chances of youngsters talking about their parents, school, poo or--at a pinch--University, were high. I'm sure I spotted a few suspiciously well-groomed, nervous types clutching pieces of paper, the odd white-knuckled beer and the reassurance of more relaxed-looking friends. I heard one suspect apologise to a large table of friends for dragging them down there only to have them miss out on tickets. It seems we were Not Alone.
When our number came up Husband lept out of his chair, tipping it over in his rush to claim sustenance. I'm pretty sure we couldn't resist a united and triumphant cry of "Bingo!". I remained behind to defend our furniture. We had agreed to share our table if someone asked, but I avoided all eye contact and we retained sovereignty. What can I say? I'm a cat.
The food. Well. Calamari is always a bit of a risk, but when it is literally impossible to cut through a crumbed and fried ring of the stuff, I classify it as ordinaire. The size of the rings was also a bit of a giveaway (How big? An amusingly large size. You figure it out). Accompanied by cold dead chips and a gesture of salad I could only compare it sadly with the food adventures of
redbraids in Barcelona, or almost anyone else's lj food postings. Husband liked his chops, but then his food standards are low. Very low. This is a man who will voluntarily eat service station meat pies.Unfortunately I'd long since realised that my neck was not going to tolerate any more time in a bistro or pub plastic chair of any description, so we abandoned our table, the long queue for the door and escaped.
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no subject
Date: 2007-08-02 04:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 04:48 pm (UTC)