The last day of freedom for The Wig was spent eating (makes a change) and visiting our dear friend Ellie in Notting Hill. Wiggy goes back to work tomorrow on the Eurostar. That isn't his normal commute, he normally rides his scooter to the Hackney Road but he has an important meeting tomorrow in Paris. At a Post House. For lunch. then back home in the evening. It sure is tough at the top.
My day, however, promises to be very different. It will be my first day since premature retirement when I think reality might slap me in the face with a wet flannel while shouting "Hey, you! Yes, you in the saggy owl pyjamas! What are you going to do all day?!". So, I have decided to be prepared and I plan to fill my day with the following 'To Do's':
1. Make a Doctors appointment to find out why I have been having sneezing spasms for over a year.
2. Make a Dentist appointment to find out how much of my life savings I have to hand over to sort out my toothache.
3. Look into a local ceramics course for I wish to make a vase.
4. Look into a local screen printing workshop for I wish to make a screen print.
5. Clean the bathroom cupboard out for I will feel guilty about numbers 3 + 4.
6. Plan + make dinner.
7. Eat dinner.
8. Write a list for Wednesday.
9. Eat some cheese.
10. Go to bed in saggy owl pyjamas.
I'm pretty excited about tomorrow.
However, back to today! Like I said, we ate a lot. Again. This morning, on our way to lunch, we decided we needed fuel for the long journey, all 11 stops on the Central Line, so we popped into Canteen at Spitalfields for Breakfast.
Its a very cool, minimal looking place that I've never eaten in before because it's usually packed, but not today. Lucky us! And we got a booth. Super lucky. It had a delicious looking and varied menu for Breakfast, but whereas I would normally go for the biggest thing on the menu, today, conscious of my purse, I opted for Poached Eggs on toast. BIG MISTAKE. Now, I'm not saying the eggs were addled, or the toast was burnt or anything, it's just that I prefer my eggs cooked. I'm not a body builder. I don't eat raw eggs for breakfast. By the time I got to the last half of the 2nd egg, I noticed the damn thing was completely raw. Gag. Usually I would be far too polite to say anything, and lets face it, I'd eaten most of the breakfast and we were on our way to a roast dinner, it's not like I was going to starve or anything. But the new me, the me that has grown balls and quits jobs and is trying to be assertive, would not let it go. This I would soon discover, was a huge error. After showing the offending egg to the waiter (he was terribly apologetic) he said that to make up for it he would bring me another egg, cooked properly this time. But I didn't want another egg. I was actually pretty full with 1.5 eggs already and 1 egg of any format is usually more than enough for me. I would have been happy with a quid or two off. But he insisted, and one couldn't deny that I had complained. So 5 minutes later he returned. With two eggs! I don't know why he did this. Only one was raw, why did he bring me two?! I think he did it on purpose to get me back for making a fuss! How cruel!! I didn't want them. I wanted to shove them in my bag and get out of there but couldn't risk Ellie's Christmas present turning into a scarf omelette. I wanted to cry. I felt nauseous. But my politeness had suddenly returned. So I ate them. Both. And all I could think of was Paul Newman.
I'm never complaining again.