Monday, December 11, 2006

Timbale turkey cake...

This site is second on Google for Chucklevision Shoes - although quite why anyone would want to follow in the podiatrically magnificent footsteps of Barry and Paul enough to want a pair of Chucklevision Shoes must be slightly unstable and I don't want them here. So, go away. After this I'm probably top of the Cucklevision Shoes search results.

A good night last night. Most of us had completely forgotten what we'd ordered a couple of months ago so the food came as a surprise when it landed in front of us, although on taking our places we did get a little card telling us what to expect. In mine it said: Timbale Turkey Cake Merry Christmas x
I think that Timbale Turkey Cake is a lovely seasonal sentiment. Thankfully it wasn't all mixed up and served in a bucket but served as three separate courses.
I was sat next to a jolly friendly architect who goes by the quite fantastic monosyllable Storm. At first my ears and brain refused to acknowledge this so I spent the time it took to get on to my main course calling him Dom. His actual name was Stephen (or Steven - I'm so socially inept I didn't ask). We talked about building materials and the perks of designing a turkey farm (he'd got free turkeys for a couple of years).
There was entertainment provided throughout the consumption of food by a young crooner, who belted out all kinds of tunes at top volume to little or no acknowledgement, including, bizarrely, the Labi Siffre song Something Inside So Strong - closely associated, due to its use on various video clips during Comic Relief, with famine relief and thus something of an appetite killer. Performers being what they are an actor decided that no fee could have been big enough for the singer to have had to undertake this dreadful gig so there was a whip round to raise more money for the chap who, by then, had started on his swing repertoire. Upon the delivery of the pot of cash the singing instantly stopped, so it was a few quid well spent.
So that's it, the festive season of serious indulgence has started. I awoke to find that we have taken possession of someone else's mobile telephone, which I will be returning en route to a meeting in a pub with an actor who wasn't present last night, and the delivery of The History of the RNLI DVD, narrated by Julian Pettifer but not included on his imdb entry, which I will watch when I return, kidding myself that sitting on a sofa staring at a screen constitutes work.

No comments: