The Enormous Turnip

There’s nothing sweeter than your young niece starring and directing a play in your back garden that she’s learnt at school. Add an even younger niece who just wants to join in and copy all the actions alongside a nanny who’s struggling to keep up and you’ve got comedy gold; especially when only one person knows what they’re doing. You’ve also got to wonder about the actions that they’re doing. Nanny must have seized up while crouching in position for so long. I don’t think that I’ve ever had a vegetable wave at me before; especially one with the ability to grow and shrink at will. But I’ll think I’ll pass on the stew. At least the pie will have something else inside it. Perhaps in future productions we could take advantage of the long grass on the stage and crawl across the ground to munch the enormous turnip. But it’s much easier to say ‘aw’ and admire their cuteness.

Buggered at Byron's

I’ve heard good things about Byron’s Burgers. It was recommended by someone at work and I wasn’t sure if they were linked to the brewery of the same name; until I encountered another branch in Liverpool. When we popped in it was on a late Saturday afternoon so we thought it’d be reasonably quiet; done with the lunches and too early for dinner. But this was not to be. Although we didn’t have to queue for a table; the people after us did. But I couldn’t understand it. The burgers sounded delicious but weren’t supersized for the price; and fries weren’t included either; making the average meal about £12. We also ordered some traditional malts but didn’t arrive until the food was served as an afterthought. I was hoping to strike them from the bill and go elsewhere; but sadly that was not to be either. The whole place just seemed a little unprofessional with kitchen assistants bringing boxes of frozen food up from the cellar in front of people. And attention to detail wasn’t on the menu either; tables weren’t being cleaned properly with food simply swept onto the floor underneath the table. Don’t wear sandals if you visit.

Family Dining

Going for a curry has changed. It used to be a question about survival. You’d walk in with your mates after a few beers and order the hottest curry available alongside ‘some of them giant crisps’ to keep you going while you wait. But the Indian restaurants of today are much less macho. Their extended range allows them to cater for a much wider variety of pallets where medium or mild spices are the norm which can be made if you ask them to. Larger groups mean that picky diners can share their dishes with others; or at least allow them the flexibility to share a range of side dishes; which is especially useful for younger diners. The best Indians focus on the food rather than the drinks; and if they let you bring your own then you know that you’re onto a winner. And as long as you’re happy to try something different each time, then they’re more than happy to serve you.

Just Desserts #dreamdiary42

It’s my cousin’s wedding day. Actually I’m not sure what relation he is to me; but it’s something to do with my Dad. He’s quite a small chap; but he’s well connected. He’s been promoted in a manager’s position that I’ve previously applied for; and since then he’s gone on to become the manager of a brand new store as well as a manager of a new distribution centre. In between, I’ve attended his engagement party (where he was pissed as a fart and had to be taken home early); and his wedding day where he barely acknowledged my attendance. It therefore gave me great pleasure to punch him in the nose on his way to attend his wedding ceremony; complete in bridegroom clobber. Granted; the punch was on my home turf more than his and it was nowhere near where the actual ceremony took place; but I’d certainly do it in real life in exchange for all the family support that he’s provided.

The Last Heretic, Burton upon Trent

My next stop in Burton was a cosy micropub on the main road into the town centre. The mainstream gang began to catch us up, but three of us managed to crawl around a circular table in front of the pub’s only window. It’s nice and cosy and there’s room enough to stow our bags underneath and our coats on our chairs without being blown by cold air every time someone walks through the door. Our camp is established, but from there it’s a bit of a wrestle to the bar. The locals aren’t too keen that we’ve invaded; but they’re too busy discussing their daily lives with the solo barman who himself is trying to please all his visiting patrons. But they’re certainly right in the pub’s name; all religious practices and democracy gets suspended whenever the pub gets crowded. I toy with the idea of venturing further into the town; but the cold weather and the appeal to return home overwhelms me.   

The Last Customer

It’s home time but unfortunately the shop isn’t shut. There’s still a queue of customers who believe that you’re here until the lights go out and it’s time for the staff to go back into their boxes. There’s some who’s refusing to move until they’ve received their delivery. There’s someone who wants a complicated refund. And there’s someone who just can’t make up their mind and has forgotten their pin. You smile and try put on as much charm as possible; but inside you just want them to give up and walk away; and plot for the quickest way to turn them away from your counter. Who are these people who are detaining you? Where is the support to relieve you? And why don’t they appreciate the extra effort that you’re going to to help them on their way? Occasionally you might get an appreciative thank-you from the person that you’re serving; but the next one looks at you with evil in their eyes and so much contempt if you don’t tend to them. But the real acknowledgement should come from the management team. It’s when they complain to you about the lack of staff rather than appreciate the extra time that you’ve put in that you begin to lose your faith in them. And when you’re trying to get out the door; the last thing that you want is for them to be all chatty and find about your weekend plans. They’ve had all day to do that. 

Not a Unified Uniform

Our group can often be identified by our brewery shirts. Traditionally, we’ve always got them sponsored then we make up the rest through our event profits. But when it comes to our own social events; we have to fork out for them ourselves. Now; I’m happy to pay for something that I want to wear; but when I’m required to wear it as a uniform I’m a bit sceptical if I’m buying something that I don’t like, especially if I’ve got something in a similar colour. If I do wear my similar colour; then from a distance it looks like that I’ve blended in with the crowd; but up close you can immediately see that I’m the odd one out. It makes me look like a sergeant amongst the corporals. But if I don’t at least wear the same colour; it makes me look like a tagalong or a late addition. I think a sandstone colour is a novel idea when you’re going to the beach; but mid-April isn’t exactly beach weather. Then again; that week did turn out to be one of the hottest of the year. Perhaps next year shorts and branded sandals are in order; or maybe even a sunhat.