This week I was mostly exhausted and had very little time or energy for anything else other than whinging about being tired. It's been quite a week for all the Waiter Chums and Chums of Waiters what with St. Patrick's Day and St. Lionel of Richie's two days and all the shenanigans, malarky, and tomfoolery associated with both. That said the Lionel Richie crowd aren't really much of a problem what with them mainly all being like at least 68 years old. Malarky from these folks tends to come in the shape of a slightly suggestive seat wiggle and the wearing of jaunty shirts. But I really do like the Lionel Crowd, they are easy, easy like a Sunday morning. Eh eh, didn't see than coming did ya? And in terms of concert going crowds they are the most generous. I think they are just happy to be out of the retirement home for the evening.
This week I was mostly smirking as the boss was rallying the troops in preparation for St. Patrick's Day service. But alas the troops could not be rallied. It's hard to motivate people sometimes, especially when the odds are so stacked against us. There were potentially hundreds and hundreds of customers and so few of us. He tried channeling the spirit of old Braveheart himself, William Wallace, and the speech he gave before the many clans of Scotland went into battle against the old enemy. It was all blood, guts, and glory. Not sure it entirely worked as I over heard Waiter Chum Number Three mutter, "Why cant we be the English instead?". Heh, made me giggle.
This week I was mostly in fear for my special relationship. Little Miss Manuel, who had taken a day off from uniting needy kids with the cash of their absent and no doubt shoddy fathers had suggested a walk along the beach. This worried me as the last time I went for a walk along a beach with a woman it was to deposit an unwanted cat. Was I to end up like poor old Guido the fat ginger cat who couldn't control it's toilet habits and find myself alone on a beach wondering what time someone was going to come back for me? I gotta be honest with you, that's the sort of news I can take over the phone. So needless to say I was worried.
But when she arrived round she suggested lunch first and a walk second. I correctly surmised all was well as intending dumpers rarely take the dumpee out for lunch first. And I have much experience as the dumpee. Anyhoo we ate lunch, which was jolly pleasant, at Apartment and then we collected Little Miss Manuel's family dog and went for an afternoon's jolly up the beach.
It was all very wind swept and interesting and I enjoyed nodding smugly at/with all the other people who were enjoying the beach on a Wednesday afternoon whilst the rest of the populous was working. But by fuckery was I shattered by the time we had got to the end of said beach. I longed to be at home twittering and eating twisters, both regular and mini. Actually what I really longed for was a bus to get us back to where the car was parked. No such bus/rickshaw service is available on the beach at Helen's Bay. I shall be writing forthwith to North Down Borough Council to see what services they do provide for the larger and lazier chap who finds themselves way too far out of their happy place.
I jest. The trip to the beach was sweet and lovely and it makes me ache for the summer and the three possibly four good days of unbroken sunny weather we normally get. But the journey home was less sweet and lovely than one would have hoped for as Little Miss Manuel made Sooty the dog and I sit in the back of the car as, "you are wet and smell". I'm still not sure which of us she was talking to.
Have a good weekend. It's Mother's Day on Sunday, don't be upsetting her and forgetting about it. Sake, she is your mam after all.