Paw Taste

This picture is quite hard to make out ... and it should be as it was taken by me on the tube with my mobile phone.

I know, I know ... it's rude of me to take a picture of someone on the tube without them knowing it. And, it's even ruder of me to post it on my blog. But ... seriously, there is absolutely no excuse for a grown man to be wearing a paw print fluffy jumper. None. Zip. Nada.

That's all.

I am not a midget

midg·et (mjt)
n.
1. Offensive: An extremely small person who is otherwise normally proportioned.
2. A small or miniature version of something.
3. A class of small objects, as a class of very small sailboats or racing cars.

adj.
1. Miniature; diminutive.
2. Belonging to a type or class much smaller than what is considered standard

I was just speaking to Paul on the phone about 15 minutes ago (he's in France at the moment remember) and he apologised for not calling me earlier ... which is cool, I don't expect a clock-in every day. Then he went on to say (to make me feel better), "You have been referred to quite a bit though to the people here. The word midget came up. I think I referred to you as a midget."

I am not a midget. Yes, I am small but I am 5ft 3 inches (okay 5ft 2.5 inches - but we're rounding up here okay). That's not midget sized. This is a midget.

Service (sic) charge

I remembered this story at 5am this morning. Don't ask me why, my memory works in mysterious ways sometimes.

One Sunday, Paul, Mon, S & M and I all went out to lunch to a place that I recommended. Now, I have been to this place a lot of times, but always with G-Roov. I've always had a good time, the service has always been fantastic and the food has always been good, or better than good. So when I suggested we go there, I was pretty confident that it was a good pick.

Well. Let me tell you! I was wrong.

Let me just run through the list of things that were wrong with this place:

Menu - at least three things that we asked for weren't on the menu that day
Drinks - came after the meal
Condiments - we had to ask twice for them
Bread - we had to ask twice for this too and then our waitress gave us a dirty look when we asked for more.
Waitress - rude and bored. She didn't even take Paul's coat, he sat the entire afternoon with his coat draped over his lap
Paying - went M went up to pay the bill as by this time we had had enough he was told to promptly sit down as they were dealing with something else at the time and they would come over to the table when they were finished.

So when it came to actually paying (you know, when we were eventually allowed to pay) our bill came to £104.00 which is inclusive of 12.5% service charge (presumptuous of them huh?). So, M counted out the cash less the 12.5% discretionary service charge and passed it on.

As we were walking out, the girl at the front counter pulled me & Mon up and said,

Waitress: "Excuse me, you've short paid your bill."
Us (Me and/or Mon) "Actually, no. We paid the bill less the discretionary service charge."
W: "That's a compulsory service charge."
Us: "No, it's discretionary, we're happy to pay for the food, but we weren't happy to pay for the service as we weren't happy with the service you provided us, so we're not including it in our bill."
W: "But you have to. It's compulsory."
Us: "Since when?"
W: "Since always."
Us: "Well your menu says that a discretionary 12.5% service charge will be added to your bill. We're more than happy to speak to your manager about this if you would like to get them out here."
W: "No, that's fine. Just go."

And to top it off. They didn't go and get my coat from the cloakroom ... I had to get it myself! How appalling is that?

Not sure about you, but I always feel personally responsible if I recommend a place and it doesn't turn out to be as good as I had recommended it. Needless to say, I felt pretty awful that Paul and friends had to endure that for their Sunday afternoon.

I'll be letting others make recommendations from now on. Less stress. Less guilt.

Home at last ... thank god almighty he's home at last

Don't get me wrong, Paul and I lead relatively independent lives; I do my thing ... he does his thing and on weekends it's generally, one day on, one day off. It's perfect.

During the week it's hectic. I don't get home from work until around 8pm and that's if I come straight home from work. And, Paul may not even come home at all (he works away, a lot of the time). So when it comes to spending time together during the week, we pretty much write that off. Friday nights tend to be our evening. Saturday and Sunday nights tend to be our evenings too and possibly one day in between.

Him going away to Australia for four weeks however put a spanner in that thinking for me. Socially, I was busy. Busier than I have ever been before. And not by design either, generally by coincidence. My friend AM came and stayed with me first for two nights and then again for a full week. This entailed lots of girly evenings and even more touristy days and nights. At one stage I was sharing my bed with the lovely Marg whilst Nic and Annemarie slept downstairs ... oh the visions many of my male friends conjured up! There were evenings out to pubs, dinners out with friends, brunches ... you name it.

But during this time, a day didn't go by when I wasn't in contact with Paul. We would instant message on Yahoo first thing in the morning and then on messenger during the day when I was at work, we chatted on the phone a couple of times (and for us to speak on the phone for any longer than one minute is generally a miracle) and of course there were the long emails. I felt like I was in more contact with him whilst he was on the other side of the world than I am with him in my everyday life. I LOVED it.

But four weeks is four weeks, and regardless of how social I had been and how in contact we had been I really started to miss him. So when Tuesday 8 May came around, I skyved off from work early to surprise him at the airport. That was 4 days ago and I have barely let him out of my sight since. He ain't going anywhere until I get my fill of him. No more staying out late during the week, and one day together during the weekend? Forget that! Of course, next week I'll be back to normal, I promise (Paul ... I promise!). Besides, the rat is off to Provence, France for 6 days from next Sunday ...