We went to Barbados to watch the Test match. Three of us: me, Dan, and Erasmus. We were expecting the usual outcome - the West Indies to give England a hiding - and, after some dogged resistance was finally blitzed, we duly got it.
But you go there for a holiday as well, right? And there were plenty of excursions to go with the cricket. We covered some ground, saw some sights. But one thing we hadn’t really done was to visit a slightly more upmarket restaurant for dinner. We asked around, did our research, and found one that seemed to be what were looking for. Maybe it was going to be a tad pricey, but the trip was nearly over and who knew if we would ever come back.
Stingy Erasmus bailed on us - no surprise there! - so it was just me and Dan. The place was out of town, so it necessitated a bit of bus travel and yomping. Nevertheless, the location was worth it.
As hopeless young singletons, it was painfully clear to us that this was the perfect destination to bring your love interest. If the romance hadn’t begun already, it surely would have done by the time dessert had arrived. The absence of this vital element aside, I’m pleased to report that we had a thoroughly enjoyable night, with the food fully deserving of the praise it had received.
And had it not been for the appearance of a visitor to our table, we might have been forgiven for thinking the evening’s entertainment to be over as we finished our drinks by candlelight beneath the vast tropical darkness. For there, perched right in between the salt and pepper pots, sat a beautiful miniature frog. He was the same size as the pots and you could almost have believed that they’d been designed as part of a set. We two boys from the Thames Estuary were truly mesmerised and he became the sole object of our conversation. In fact, we must have delayed our exit by a good ten minutes as we sat there admiring him.
Finally, we noticed that we were now the only customers left. Reluctantly, we asked for the bill.
The waiter brought it and, at the same time, cleared the table. He didn’t see the frog.
With his left hand, he gathered the salt and pepper pots in one swift movement. The clack of one pot hitting the other is a horror that remains with me to this day. I looked at Dan. He looked at me. Two thespians of world renown would struggle to replicate the shock that must have been evident on our faces. I swear neither of us closed our mouths or said a word for a full five minutes. Meanwhile, the waiter remained blissfully oblivious to the act of slaughter that he’d just perpetrated.
I never looked at a condiment set in quite the same way after that.
But you go there for a holiday as well, right? And there were plenty of excursions to go with the cricket. We covered some ground, saw some sights. But one thing we hadn’t really done was to visit a slightly more upmarket restaurant for dinner. We asked around, did our research, and found one that seemed to be what were looking for. Maybe it was going to be a tad pricey, but the trip was nearly over and who knew if we would ever come back.
Stingy Erasmus bailed on us - no surprise there! - so it was just me and Dan. The place was out of town, so it necessitated a bit of bus travel and yomping. Nevertheless, the location was worth it.
As hopeless young singletons, it was painfully clear to us that this was the perfect destination to bring your love interest. If the romance hadn’t begun already, it surely would have done by the time dessert had arrived. The absence of this vital element aside, I’m pleased to report that we had a thoroughly enjoyable night, with the food fully deserving of the praise it had received.
And had it not been for the appearance of a visitor to our table, we might have been forgiven for thinking the evening’s entertainment to be over as we finished our drinks by candlelight beneath the vast tropical darkness. For there, perched right in between the salt and pepper pots, sat a beautiful miniature frog. He was the same size as the pots and you could almost have believed that they’d been designed as part of a set. We two boys from the Thames Estuary were truly mesmerised and he became the sole object of our conversation. In fact, we must have delayed our exit by a good ten minutes as we sat there admiring him.
Finally, we noticed that we were now the only customers left. Reluctantly, we asked for the bill.
The waiter brought it and, at the same time, cleared the table. He didn’t see the frog.
With his left hand, he gathered the salt and pepper pots in one swift movement. The clack of one pot hitting the other is a horror that remains with me to this day. I looked at Dan. He looked at me. Two thespians of world renown would struggle to replicate the shock that must have been evident on our faces. I swear neither of us closed our mouths or said a word for a full five minutes. Meanwhile, the waiter remained blissfully oblivious to the act of slaughter that he’d just perpetrated.
I never looked at a condiment set in quite the same way after that.
