Monday 8 January 2018
Sunny and clear 5 degrees
Yesterday was the most stupendously beautiful day and I was too ill to get out of bed, and watched it passing before my window. The sea was blue and the sky the palest lemon. So much traffic - is there no such thing as a day of rest any more?
The day before we went to pick up some Ebay finds from a town about 60 kms away. I wont say which one it is because I do not want to harm the business of the cafe bakery which we visited, but cannot miss this opportunity to tell you about it. This is a traditional part of the UK. And I am married to a traditional sort of man. One who is deeply suspicious of anything organic (possibility that you will be charged extra) or Fairtrade, and who would prefer to have his nether regions flayed in public rather than frequent a coffee chain. I have never got him inside a Costa to this day.
The journey had taken quite a while because we had to keep on stopping whilst he popped out for a wee. It is normal in France to see people peeing, quite flagrantly, at the side of the road, but quite something else over here in the UK. I always take the opportunity to pomp my horn with gusto and shout 'ceci n'est pas un pissoir' as I pass, and have the pleasure of seeing them peeing on themselves as they jump. Finally, we arrive and he has to go again. He drags me past the Costa, thronging with happy people and into a nearly deserted place next door.
'This looks more like it', he says, throwing down his stuff 'I'll have some of that coffee and walnut cake and a cup of tea'. He runs off to get a paper. The coffee and walnut cake turns out to be peanut butter and salted caramel. I have to tell you, dear reader, that traditional men do not entertain such strange combinations so said I would wait.
Everyone in the cafe was accompanied by a dog. There were dog pictures on the walls. There were sandwiches shaped like bones and garishly coloured donuts. The back wall of the cafe was created with chipboard, on which the word 'toilet' had been written in black felt pen. The women behind the counter were very thin. I started to suspect we had strayed into the other type of establishment to which OH has a particular aversion, and that is the veggie/vegan type.
OH rushed back in and confirmed that peanut butter and salted caramel was anathema and then rejected the large leaden cookies and the strange mound of brown stuff covered in cream. His tea arrived and it looked like this
There was no obvious way to get the top off the tea pot in order to stir it and the glass was very hot. The frothy stuff at the bottom of the picture is my coffee. It was weak. The tea was very weak. However, effective as a diuretic so he had to go again. He was gone a while and I watched the dogs enjoying some donuts. He came back and gesticulated - I just had to go and check out the toilets.
The staircase down was a corkscrew one, with very narrow treads. The walls were lined with green baize. Downstairs, more chipboard. It reminded me of a particularly nasty renovation carried out by a Belgian guy on what had been a lovely and innocent country property.
The whole thing was a triumph of style over substance. Chipboard does not look nice. It looks cheap. Like concrete. No one can ever convince me that concrete looks good. It looks like a low cost solution. No matter how much you brush it.
We left, after having been relieved of 5.50 and decided we would not be going there again. With a dog or without.
I started feeling really ill again on the way home and went to bed early.
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