Tigger has caught my cold. It was inevitable, really, given the dedication and efficiency of the cold virus in propagating colonies in other bodies.
Feeling a bit under par, we decided not to go to Margate this week. As I hinted, our trips down to the Kentish playground were occasioned by Tigger’s father falling ill and being placed in hospital. As his condition is now stable, it seems reasonable to space out our visits a little, especially as we will be spending several days down there over Christmas.
Saturday was thus a classic weekend day. We woke up late and had a lazy start. I made tea and while Tigger listened to Paul Ross on LBC, I checked my email and played with MailCOPA. Then it was time for breakfast. Neither of us cooks, at least not in the conventional meaning of the word, though Tigger can rustle up a fair dinner, though I guarantee you will not find its recipe in Delia Smith or its name on any restaurant menu. Tigger specializes in putting unusual combinations of foodstuffs together so a Tigger meal is a bit like a lucky dip. What is my contribution? I make the tea, do the washing up, feed the cat and say “Mmmm, lovely.” Life as a cooperative venture. Wonderful.
But I digress. It was time for breakfast. We have several options for breakfast. There is The Angel Cafe, The Station Cafe, The Candid Cafe and loads more but you get the picture. Today we went to The Angel Cafe, where the waitress knows our order without asking (like “Ghengis”, down the road at The Station Cafe at Kings Cross).
Nothing sets you up for a good Saturday as a full vegetarian breakfast. In fact, it set us up so well that we decided to go home to rest. Well, it is the weekend and Tigger works even if I don’t.After a good rest, we decided to go out. I didn’t ask where we were going. I know Tigger always has somewhere in mind and as I usually don’t have any ideas on the subject I am happy to tag along.
Town was crowded, so crowded that simply walking along the street was difficult. The shops were even worse. The reason was announced on a card in a shop window: “67 days to Christmas”. Yes, the dreaded Santa Season is upon us and the stores are full of Christmas wares. We had a good look around at all the shiny, boozy, glittery things, Tigger bought a DVD (the unstated purpose of the trip) and then we went home. Oh, I nearly forgot: we stopped off at Starbuck’s and relaxed a while in their battered but comfy armchairs.
Saturday is not yet over. As I write, the pleasure of the evening meal awaits us. No, not a Tigger special. Over the weekend, the cook has time off like everyone else and we eat out. More about that, perhaps, another time.