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Thursday, March 31, 2005

Two Trash Cans and a Greek Meal

A gorgeous day yesterday so I walked to the restaurant. I'm lying of course; I was saving a dollar. And a most pleasant way to save a dollar it was too. An old man in front of me rummaging in a trash can. Long green coat. Hat and a stick. I remembered what it was like to be hungry. He found what he was looking for, and pulled out the newspaper from the trash can. Then he read it.

It's Not Like This in Greece

I do like Greek food but this restaurant didn't do it any favors. All the starters bar none were perfectly suitable for grouting tiles. I chose Afelia for my main course because it sounds like a girl I'd particularly like to have a Mediterranean romance with. Or a song by The Who. My dessert was like a large lump of Angel Delight which one could play handball with, wrapped up with an opaque wafer thin substance that looked like the last thing it had been wrapped around was a seriously traumatized toe.

A Time to Clap

And the Berlitz Travel Guide was lying about these Greeks. Not laid back at all. They rush you like mad through the meal so that you have the rest of the night to relax clapping your hands to a man who dances on one leg with ten glasses balanced on his head. If you find that relaxing. We clapped a lot. We even clapped the owner for making the clapping possible.

Paint This Scene, Why Don't You?

Too many figures for a painting, I decided. At least, too many for a representational painting. How do you paint cheesey music? There was a couple of nice dishes I thought would fare well mosaiced into a painting so among the clapping and thrashing plates I dropped them and picked up the pieces, while agreeing with the assistant manager that I wouldn't do that again.

Big Hips Working

The assistant manager had a lovely smile. Dour, plump, with big hips. It was her job to sit on a table to prevent it from toppling over as the birthday couple danced away.


Couldn't help but notice that the walls were lacking in artwork. I wonder...

I'll Just Tidy Up Before I Paint

Back at home all the eggshells wouldn't come out of the glass cut dessert dish. I shook and shook it. It hit the floor fairly hard as it smashed, and then the eggshells came out. Got all the bits up without cutting my hand. On with the quest. The kitchen and the living room. Get rid of that plastic bag that's been driving me mad by the refrigerator. Scrunch it up. Put it in the big black bag full of trash and glass. Push it down in. Scream.

Paul Dorrell recommends

Any well-run, well-patronized, well-lighted restaurant will do. Talk to the owner.


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