On Thursday evening I met up with three friends. We used to work together until April last year, but all four of us have changed jobs since then. Three of us are now working in the Euston/Tottenham Court Road area, but it was when L, who works out of London, announced she was on a course in Regent's Park that day we arranged to meet up.
So where to meet? Anne Marie (sorry, I mean AM) had raved to L for some time about a bar in the Hampstead Road that did wonderful food, so we went with her recommendation.
And next, when to we meet? L's course finished at 4.30, I reckoned I could get out of work at 4.30 but had to take a camera in to a place at the top of TCR, Anne Marie (sorry, I mean AM) finishes at 5.00, and D would be out at 5.30 - so if I met up with L a bit before 5, Anne Marie (sorry, I mean AM) would join us at 5.15 and D would be there before 6. Then we would have the whole evening.
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In fact, I didn't finish until 4.45 and, as I left work and turned my mobile on, I found a text from L. It appeared that the "bloody place" didn't open until 5.
I took the camera in, and headed up to meet L, only to find her standing in the street, looking somewhat unhappy. The bar still wasn't open. And the menu didn't look that wonderful.
We chatted for a minute or two, wandered down the road a bit to check out a nearby restaurant, then back to the bar which finally got round to opening at about 5.15. We walked in .... and nearly walked out again.
It was rather dingy, didn't look that clean, and the menu was as uninspiring as we remembered from looking at it outside five minutes earlier. But we had arranged to meet the other two there, so we ordered a couple of cokes and sat at a table.
An uncomfortable look appeared on L's face. She slowly lifted her arms from the table .... or tried to. They were stuck to it.
We examined the menu again. Sill not promising. In fact, there was a distinct shortage of hot food available; wraps, salads and cold pasta salads, but nothing hot except a side order of potato wedges. Oh, and a spit roast chicken but, as L pointed out, chicken couldn't exactly be spit roast to order, and you didn't know how long it had been hanging round.
L explained her particular situation. She hadn't felt well the previous evening, so had skipped dinner. An early start to get into London from the wilds of Surrey meant she hadn't eaten before she left home, but she had promised herself a breakfast on arrival at Waterloo. Only when she got to Waterloo, a power cut meant none of the food outlets were open. By the time her course broke for lunch, she was feeling in need of some fresh air so she went out for 15 minutes; and by the time she got back, all that was left of the lunch was a tiny bowl of leeks and two falafel balls. She pinned her hopes on the biscuits with the afternoon tea.
Afternoon tea came, and with it came .... marshmallows.
L doesn't like marshmallows.
So she had planned to get to the bar at around 4.45 and settle down with her book, a coke, and a plate of chips. Except the bar didn't open until 5.15, and didn't serve chips. Now she fancied a burger, and little else would do.
We looked at the menu again, in the hope that it had changed while we weren't looking. But, no, there was still no magical "burger 9 3/4".
And then we realised that it was after 5.30 and there was no sign of Anne Marie (sorry, I mean AM) either. A quick exchange of texts elicited the information that she was dealing with a SUSAR* at work, but would with us before long.
The menu still didn't look any better. What's more, seeing plates of food being delivered through the front door of the bar was a little disconcerting.
Anne Marie (sorry, I mean AM) arrived at around 5.50, and declared her desire for "some of the wonderful tempura" that was the reason why she had recommended this bar. We passed her the menu. She wasn't happy. She asked the barmaid if they were still offering the tempura; the barmaid reckoned it could be done and left the bar to check. It couldn't be done.
But, as we couldn't leave to go somewhere else before D arrived, Anne Marie (sorry, I mean AM) ordered a round of drinks, and I went to the bar to help her with them.
At this point, L gave in and ordered a club wrap (this is important) and a side order of potato wedges. So I ordered a caesar wrap and potato wedges. Anne Marie (sorry, I mean AM) didn't order anything. It transpired that her nearest supermarket was offering "2 for 1" on six packs of caramel cakes, so she'd been forced to eat twelve of them that day .....
When the barmaid passed me my drink, I asked if I could possibly have it in a glass without lipstick on it. She got me a fresh drink.
I asked if I could have it in a glass without a 5 cm brown mark down the inside.
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D arrived late, muttering murderous thoughts about a consultant. She'd warned us she wouldn't be eating until she got home, but a look at the menu changed her mind (ok, it looked reasonable if you didn't want anything hot).
At that moment, a small Chinese girl bearing two plates of food came through the front door of the bar and made her way to our table. Now, don't take this the wrong way .... It's not a racist comment, but just an observation that the words "club wrap" aren't that easy to make out when spoken with a heavy Chinese accent.
And the side order of potato wedges turned out to be six wedges each less than 3 cm long.
D reconfirmed that she would be eating when she got home, and ordered a round of drinks. When the barmaid passed her hers, she asked if she could possibly have it in a clean glass ......
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By this point, Anne Marie (sorry, I mean AM) was mortified. Possibly because we kept reminding her it was her recommendation that had brought us there. And no matter how many times the issue of prawns at a pub L had recommended for a previous occasion (my leaving lunch, to be precise) was mentioned, her shame wasn't lessened.
And I haven't even mentioned the loos. All I can say is .... don't go there!
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* SUSAR - Suspected Unexpected Serious Adverse Reaction. Don't ask!
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