And now….

…for something (anything) completely different.

There is only so long one can dwell on an issue before it becomes unconstructive and people become tired. I am certain I will broach the theme of the past two days again, in whatever form, so for those of you who were fascinated by it, watch this space. And thank you again for your comments that I found constructive, insightful, and supportive!

…but then now what??

Manuel’s budget speech today? Gawd no, that will only have me hauling myself up a soapbox again, I am sure.

HIV and AIDS? For now, all is as calm as can be considering, on that western front. Or perhaps I have been too distracted to know this week’s new themes. Mainly, everyone has gone quiet, just watching, waiting, for more bursts of Russian colloquialisms & demented babble out of our ailing Health Minister. I do hope that, if she is as ill as media hype is making out, our government will not be its renowned stubborn self, and rather relieve her of her duties, and allow her to rest and recuperate gracefully.

Delightful Jam has decided to initiate a project for us blogging chickitas… and asks us to pen our amusing stories down, which could become part of her Urban Chick book. Check out the site, and be off like Carrie Bradshaw’s Manolo heels to type away your experiences while enjoying an iced latte, in some New York-style coffee shop.

Other than that, what can I say. Not a helluva lot. (HA! This is me, I’ll find something. AND a lot of it.) Except for what, according to my mate studying her ass off in NYC (and if you are reading this, you just get back to your books chickie!!), is one of those experiences she’d still be reminiscing about while lolling about on her deathbed… I was given a free meal voucher. And not to any old fast food have-a-free-milkshake-with-your-fries voucher. But a voucher to the Meat Co. Melrose Arch.

This was offered to me after I had just munched my way through a 3-course incredible meal, soaked up in my tummy by an expensive wine of my choice, paid for by a sexy Frenchie, who always holds true to his promise of being excellent amusing company. All of this served to me by a delightful lady called Priscilla, (who also became besotted by the blue-eyed charming Gaul). On a gorgeously warm summer’s night. Under the stars and a massive quarter moon.

One can understand the distress I must have been under to receive such a token of their embarrassment. Really?? You can?? If so, please explain to us!

As we gorged ourselves on our respective dishes, the restaurant’s manager approached with a plate of more TENDER chicken medallion pieces (which were stuffed with spinach & olives. YUMM!!), quickly said I needed more, dished them onto my plate, and was gone. My darling Frenchie - who is convinced that South Africans all sound like Shrek - asked, “Iz zees a Shrek land zing?”
(I have yet to establish how I feel being associated to a big green friendly ogre. Personally, I think I’d prefer to be the donkey.)
“Mais oui, mon petit chou!”

I had no clue what was going on.

The waitress later explained, once we had forgotten about this oddity, that she had told the kitchen they had given me far too meagre a portion of tasty chicken. They have a reputation to uphold. I was not arguing back, expect to say there was just enough chance I was going to finish the original portion, let alone this new welcome addition.

This is where Frenchie climbed on the green friendly ogre bandwagon & asked if his approx. 1 kilo of RARE fillet (he doesn’t get to eat enough meat at home it seems) was also not a little undersized for their usual dishes. Charm charm charm. Priscilla looked close to bringing him a whole cow, dead, skinned, and as close to steak tartar as possible, as she swooned back at him.

ANYWAY…they ended up having to doggy bag my extra food. Then we sat relaxing in the tranquillity that can be luxuriant Melrose Arch. Watching some other foreigner attempt to charm the girls at the table next to us. The girls left fast. The guy returned to his mates and was left to his own ramblings. Like I said before, your nationality either has it. Or it doesn’t.

The next thing Priscilla scrambled past us, grabbed the doggy bag, and was gone. Shrek land thing? Peut Etre. More wine? Oui, merci. She returned and explained a bit later that she had just discovered the food had been dropped in the kitchen earlier. Ah well, it was not meant to be. More wine? Mais oui.

As we left, the manager approached us to offer his apologies for our “disasterous” dinner. And then he subtly slid a food voucher for one Chicken Medallion Dish into my hand.

J’aime des Shreks! Merci Meat Co. and DEFINITELY see you soon!