Wednesday, June 09, 2010

Post, late and fish on a dish.

1. "I'm going round the front to check for post," says Nick -- we should get a delivery to our door, but some of the postmen don't know that, and leave it with the mail for the other flats. He almost walks into the postman, who has a parcel of sewing things for me.

1a. I mishear 'nerve centre' as 'nerd centre'.

2. The lady at the table next to us flicks through her notebook. They ask if everything is all right. "He's always late. I'm looking for his number. I've got the vet coming at two thirty." They tell her that they will hurry her meal through when he arrives.
We are on our main course when he comes -- got lost on the motorway and parked on a yellow line. "I'll have a scotch on ice."
And breathe.

3. My mackerel is arranged in two little towers on a foundation of spinach. Each is tailed by a green smear of -- licks fingertip -- wasabi. It makes me think of creatures leaving tracks on the seabed.

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