I had an excellent day. We went to Norwich and, after a small setback when I discovered that Jarrolds was shut for the bank holiday (you can get everything in Jarrolds, it’s just like Underwoods in The Archers – what do you mean, you don’t listen to Radio 4 and don’t know what I’m talking about?), I went elsewhere and bought two pairs of shoes and four books. I know it was Ro who was supposed to be shopping, but what’s a woman to do in her spare time? Then Ro and I met to have lunch before the cinema.
He started his job in late October and was surprised when he received two books of Luncheon Vouchers at Christmastime. He was impressed that, in addition, he was given a day’s extra pay as a Christmas bonus as he didn’t expect anything at all, having been there for such a short time. He hadn’t actually used any of the vouchers yet as they is nowhere to spend them here, so we ventured into a JD Witherspoons, which takes them and he bought me lunch……a free lunch, but the thought is all. It took him 10 minutes to queue and order and another 17 minutes for the food to arrive, which left us 12 minutes to eat, drink and steam up Elm Hill and down St George’s Street to the Playhouse.
Of course we got there in time. In time for the trailers, furthermore, although sometimes they don’t show them and start straight in with the film so we didn’t want to risk it.
I noticed that he left the last inch of his beer and ate all his chips, whilst I drank all my beer and left some chips. It figures.
A very enjoyable film, ‘The World’s Fastest Indian’ – the Indian is a motorbike – with Anthony Hopkins as Burt Munro, a New Zealander whose dream it was to travel to Utah and take part in the Annual Speed Week. Of course, he had no money, a heart condition and the bike was 40-something years old. But he got there, or there wouldn’t have been much story. Burt was something of a hero in NZ and it’s the sort of tale that had to be based on a true story or you wouldn’t have believed it.
We drove home, wishing we’d brought the shop keys so that we could have stocked up on fruit and salad for Ro’s lunch tomorrow – and the Sage had remembered and been there already. Fortunately, it was the first thing we mentioned when we arrived home, so he was very pleased to say it was a Job Done and even more pleased to receive much praise. It’s a small oddity of life to say that he was praised for remembering, whereas I would have been kindly forgiven had I forgotten, but that’s the way it is in many houses.
And then I went into the garden and cut 12 spears of asparagus. The first of the season. There is nothing better (some things are as good, but none better) than freshly cut asparagus, cooked just long enough and eaten with your fingers.
I’m salivating and don’t want to flood another keyboard, so I’ll go and start cooking.