| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Can you help me occupy my brain? (H) 13:21 - Jul 19 with 1283 views | Warkystache |
Open and shut. That was the pubs around Felixstowe. Another trip with my dad, this time for my mum's 71st birthday. "She doesn't want much" said my Dad reassuringly, as I got in to his car. He paused and reached into the back pocket of his brown chinos. He became businesslike. "We should be able to get a lobster at Felixstowe Ferry" he said, soothingly. He opened the rest of the list she'd written. It was like a spendthrift's till receipt.
So, sorry this week, but there's little Terry in this report. I don't mean he's shrunk. He started work last Monday night at Sainsbury's in Boreham. His official title is 'Store Night Replenishment Operative'. His job is to re-stock shelves with stuff, basically. He works from 10pm to 6am, and then drives home to sleep during the day. He's had five days of this so far.
I took a call from him yesterday morning at 7am. "Ah've jus' come 'ome" said the sad little voice at the end of the line. He whispered "the wife aint up yet so ah'll 'ave ter be quiet, like". This proved impossible, so he went in the garden. "iss as bad as I fought" he said, plaintively. "Paid a tenner an 'our, get 'alf 'our break fer drinks an' that, then get yer bag searched for goods as yer leave. An' I'm only temp'rary. Contract til the end of September. Me back's killin' me an' ah'm cream-crackered so d'ya mind if we call the pub off terday? We'll leave it til nex' weekend, gimme a chance ter catch up some kip".
So I rang my dad. He's always busy doing something. And it's my mum's birthday on Thursday so I knew he'd be present-hunting. He was. "How are you?" he asked, politely. At a loose end, I said. "Oh that's good" he said. "You can come shopping with me. I need to get your mum a birthday present or..." here he corrected himself with a chuckle, "presents".
He arrived at nine, and came in for a cuppa. He likes my tea. He has to drink Yorkshire at home and he prefers my Twinings English Breakfast. I've told him I'll treat him to a box but he always declines. "We have to use up the Yorkshire first". Then, when he does, he forgets and my mum likes Yorkshire so the cycle continues. He sat sipping his tea on my patio chair, fixing my bird table (the roof partially collapsed last week and I'm rubbish at DIY). "There" he said, after banging a few nails and re-positioning the wooden slats so that they overlapped perfectly. "Should last you a bit longer". He took a victory slurp of tea and went into the kitchen to look for suitable food to add on it. He returned with the rest of my bread, a rogue Eccles cake I'd been saving and a plastic bucket of seed that I need more of.
We left at ten. First stop was Townsends in Manningtree for cards and gift wrap. Then we went to Ipswich for The Body Shop and Lakeland, and then, after a cup of takeaway tea from Costa which he drank while looking in Waterstone's window, we left for Felixstowe.
We meandered around the streets and onto the Ferry Road. The sun threatened briefly, with small patches of blue interspersed like Town fans drinking before the game in The Compleat Angler near Carrow Road. "Should warm up later" said Dad with a wink. There were a lot of people around; people walking dogs dressed in shorts, the odd portly woman near the beach huts, wearing those tight lycra bottoms that don't flatter and put in mind less 'camel's toe' than the concrete bike stands you used to park your mountain bike in at school. The golf club course was busy with blokes dressed in Fred Perry and Lacoste, their tailored shorts showing walnut hairy legs, none-too-trained golf swings making their manboobs quiver and bobble like jelly on a skittish pig.
The fish shop was open but parking was at a premium. We parked outside the loos and walked in. The flies were more prevalent than the punters. We bought the lobster, then my Dad fancied a bit of crab and some cockles and a pint of shell-on prawns. The bloke who served us wrapped them in newspaper with a bit of ice. We put them in the coolbox he takes everywhere. "Can't be too careful at this time of year, especially with milk and butter and stuff" he said. Another sound tip. "I always make sure the blocks are frozen; we've got five at home".
We got back on the A14 and turned off at John Lewis' and Waitrose. The queues were long and full of people in black face-masks. We put ours on as well, chastened by the thought that we'd forgotten them earlier. We went in. He got bored with the John Lewis bit. He bought my mum some fancy chocolates and a new throw for their bed. We came out and went into Waitrose. He bought white nectarines ("She likes Bellinis") and fresh mayonnaise and soda bread and champagne and bacon and biscuits and some olives. Then he went back for some strawberries, cherries and grapes.
It was nearly 1pm by the time we came out. "Would you like a pint or two and some lunch?" he asked. "My treat". I said yes please. So we drove to Suffolk Food Hall, only it was rammed with small kids playing and a queue to park, so we went to The Boot in Freston instead. It was open and serving, with a nice wood smoke smell from the tented barbecue in the back. We engaged in the social distancing and ordered our drinks at the bar and then walked up the garden to find somewhere to sit. He had a pint of their local lager, I had a pint of 'Thundering Molly' cider. Our food duly came; a bacon and cheese toasted sandwich with fries for him, a hot chicken sandwich and fries for me. The sun came out. It was bloody warm.
"Phew" said Dad as he finished. "They do big portions here". He swallowed the remains of his pint and I followed suit and we left. He drove me home. I pulled my shopping from his car and he asked me what my plans were for the rest of the day. "Oh, dunno" I said, thinking I might try the local later, not really that bothered because, without Tel, it seemed a bit of a waste of time. Most of my friends are either away for the weekend or busy. It might be another dull night in. I fancied a curry.
"Well, look after yourself" said Dad with a smile. "Thanks for joining me today, you saved me from a very boring day's shopping on my own". He's got my aunt and uncle today, hence the lobster. My mum's making lobster salad, then roast chicken with herby new potatoes and roasted veg. "You could've come" said Dad, with a hint of pleading. But no. They're coming for my mum's birthday. I'm over on Thursday to see her; we've booked The Anchor at Nayland for lunch. Can't have too much of a good thing.
I had the curry. It was quite nice. Loads left over, cold in the fridge. Might make a start on it when The Grand Prix comes on at two. It doesn't really feel like a weekend, all this working from home malarkey and lockdown lifting. Still, I suppose this will be the norm for a few more weeks yet, if not months.
Dad asked about Ipswich Town, and whether they'd sorted the arrangements for the new season yet. It's all up in the air, like everything else. God I miss it. Even the crap performances and the blighted hopes and the uncertainty of promotion or play-offs in a poor league. Roll on October. Season of mists and all that. I've never wanted summer over with like this more. |  |
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| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Can you help me occupy my brain? (H) on 15:23 - Jul 19 with 1173 views | Westover |
Great as always, I don't think Tell will last at that job until September. |  | | |
| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Can you help me occupy my brain? (H) on 17:38 - Jul 19 with 1108 views | Ace_High1 |
Great as usual.
Noticed your walks in the country have diminished over recent weeks? Summer is the ideal time for it. |  | | |
| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Can you help me occupy my brain? (H) on 19:17 - Jul 19 with 1070 views | BanksterDebtSlave |
Miss Slave, a stickler for detail, wants to know when you last placed some jelly on a skittish pig? Great read as ever. |  |
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| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Can you help me occupy my brain? (H) on 05:36 - Jul 27 with 790 views | witchdoctor |
‘ blokes dressed in Fred Perry and Lacoste, their tailored shorts showing walnut hairy legs, none-too-trained golf swings making their manboobs quiver and bobble like jelly on a skittish pig. ‘
ha ha ha ha |  | | |
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