You may wish to add 'going out to dinner' to the list of things you don't want to do with me after reading this post...
I'm an enthusiastic diner-out and try to eat out about once a week if I can. This has been aided by the discovery of a Gourmet Society Card that gives you various discounts at a number of different restaurants. I purchased this card with my Tesco points, which I gained with wine and I take great satisfaction in thinking that my excessive drinking is funding my eating out (and more excessive drinking); what a lovely cycle of overindulgence.
Anyway, last night I was dining out with my BFF Shelley and two ladies that we met when we were doing a Marketing Diploma in Watford about ten years ago. This was three hours hard graft every Tuesday and Thursday evening; time I will never get back. Shell and I (we shared a flat at the time) snuck in cans of G&T which made it slightly less arduous but compared to our normal evening routines of naked star-jumping across Stanmore Hill in front of double-decker buses, asking for sugar from the pub next door wearing negligee and shaving hairy men in our lounge, it was still pretty tame.
So, we met up at a restaurant in St Albans called Asia, which has now apparently changed its name to Maya, (and which Shelley has always thought was called Fusion), for a food and drink fest with 25% off the bill at the end. Julia said it was time she sorted her life out and was getting a Brazilian, by which she meant a Brazilian cleaner, but the man at the next table nearly choked on his chapati when I confessed I thought she was tidying her bush, rather than her house.
We had drunk a bottle of Pinot and were about to put in our order when the waiter came over and told us than instead of the advertised 25% off our bill we would be receiving one free main course! Sorry what?! I sent him away whilst we held a council of war and we agreed, (although ever-so-slightly bulldozed by me), that we would leave and go somewhere else if he would not honour the 25%. When he returned, I told him that we were going to leave and would not be paying for our drinks or prawn crackers if we didn't receive our 25% discount. He told me in no uncertain terms that this was unacceptable and so I suggested (drunk too much and showing off for the crowd by now) that he called the police, at which point he vanished into the kitchen. Shite. My comrades were supportive but looked a little as if they would quite like to be somewhere else by now tucking into a nice dinner.......without me....... The man returned and told us we could have 25% this time but never again.
Julia was convinced that they were now going to wee in our food but I comforted her by telling her they would probably only wee in my food as I was the troublemaker. Sure enough, when my starter arrived there was a teeny tiny black hair on my plate accompanying the fishcakes which I removed and convinced myself was an eyelash. Julia thought it was either feline or pubic and spent a good long time examining it and Shelley and Linda tried to ignore us, and it, completely and get the last possible scraps of enjoyment out of their food.
At that point the women we had practically run over when battling for a parking space outside earlier started audibly farting in a menacing fashion (must have been the pubes in their food) so we decided to cut our losses and leave. A fun evening but not exactly uneventful. I wonder if cosmic forces were at work punishing me for breaking no-alcohol-Tuesday?
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