The birthday of Tasman. Tina, Lucy and I got up early. Tina went to Camden to pick up Tas’ present, while Lucy and I traipsed miserably to Tesco’s to get ingredients for the cake and for his breakfast in bed.
I remember my grandfather telling me stories about being in England. One time in particular he told me about the experience of having hands so cold that when they were warmed inside, they stung. Having now had that feeling myself, there is a strong sense of identification with my grandfather (simply because he happened to be the one to tell me, I’m not under any illusions that this might be anything like a unique experience), and I know now what he meant when he said it felt like someone had been at his hands with a horsewhip. Oddly, after making the journey back with the shopping and warming my hands in the sink, I never regained feeling in my left ring finger. Strange.
Tasman’s breakfast in bed came as something of a surprise to him, particularly as it was served at lunch time on the couch, hours after he had gotten up. We all had eggs Florentine (courtesy of Tina), and watched one of my new favorite shows.
As far as I’m aware, we don’t have The Jeremy Kyle Show in Australia. It’s a tremendous pity. Basically it’s like taking Dr. Phil, removing his qualifications, and making him angrier. The satisfaction of watching the man yell at a guest who has come to the show expecting sympathy for being such a jerk is surprisingly satisfying.
Later we decided as a group to let Tasman decide where to have dinner. We settled on a pub between our flat and the tube station. The walk was peaceful (if painfully cold), until
We were egged from a hole in the side of a building we were passing (probably a window). At least, that was the intent of our attackers. In actual fact, only Tina was egged (though she managed to score a spectacular own goal for our group by leaning eggily on both Lucy and myself before we reached the pub).
The pub itself was lovely indeed, we all had good meals, and we also opted for scrabble over the other forms of entertainment. The pubs scrabble set was more than a little dodgy, being partly comprised of pieces from classic ‘scrabble’, and partly from ‘junior scrabble’. The real disadvantage was that even this accounted for only about 47% of an actual scrabble set, so the game was tough. Everyone could see everyone else’s letters, and only about fifteen of the letters in the game were vowels, meaning that the game ended before the consonants ran out, but not before our patience. We retreated to the apartment for Lemon cake which we followed with the viewing of slapping contests on youtube while eating Banana and Coconut cake.
One other thing worth mentioning is that over the past few days, the bad cat (which is what we have taken to calling him) has become more and more daring in its encounters with us. It now frequently ventures out from under the bed, retreating only when it hears someone it can’t see or when it sees Lucy. An unfortunate side effect of this is that it is now vomiting over a less concentrated are than just under the bed, which is a nuisance.