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in the library with a lead pipe
Jul. 16th, 2012 07:00 pmI've been putting off writing this blog so it wouldn't just be me being miserable, but this week just gets worse and worse and I can't do anything right. This frown is hammered down.
Even going to the Mousetrap last night was a disaster from start to finish. It was supposed to be a treat but I completely fucked it up. I managed to pick the wrong night of the wrong week, the seats were in the very back row and Himself was tired and grumpy and had important stuff on today and I've made such a mess of things and I don't know what to do.
Even arranging to meet at my beloved Mercantile pub seemed to weigh heavily in the underwhelming scales. Sure it's a little scruffy, but I just adore the original Art Nouveau decor, the swirly green tiles, the patterned plaster ceiling, the gorgeous and elegant sweep of the wooden arms on the mantlepiece. The staff are friendly, the clientle unpretentious and the food is in the solid and hearty, cheap and cheerful range. No truffle oil, in other words. Just bangers and mash, beef and Guinness pie, that sort of thing. Close by, comfy, perfect for winter, I thought.
Okay, the chef is surly, but the surlier he is, the better the food. 'Yippee, then,' deapanned Himself, without any enthusiasm.
At least the walk down the wall did have the spectacular views as promised, and Gleebooks had their pop up store at the theatre as advertised.
( more: I wish )
Even going to the Mousetrap last night was a disaster from start to finish. It was supposed to be a treat but I completely fucked it up. I managed to pick the wrong night of the wrong week, the seats were in the very back row and Himself was tired and grumpy and had important stuff on today and I've made such a mess of things and I don't know what to do.
Even arranging to meet at my beloved Mercantile pub seemed to weigh heavily in the underwhelming scales. Sure it's a little scruffy, but I just adore the original Art Nouveau decor, the swirly green tiles, the patterned plaster ceiling, the gorgeous and elegant sweep of the wooden arms on the mantlepiece. The staff are friendly, the clientle unpretentious and the food is in the solid and hearty, cheap and cheerful range. No truffle oil, in other words. Just bangers and mash, beef and Guinness pie, that sort of thing. Close by, comfy, perfect for winter, I thought.
Okay, the chef is surly, but the surlier he is, the better the food. 'Yippee, then,' deapanned Himself, without any enthusiasm.
At least the walk down the wall did have the spectacular views as promised, and Gleebooks had their pop up store at the theatre as advertised.
( more: I wish )
