Skip to main content

Nothing Fast About It.


I found myself trapped in a confusing conversation today whilst ordering breakfast in Wetherspoons.

I was there for a business meeting with Glyn - because there’s no better backdrop than a cheap chain pub - and had decided to opt for porridge for frühstück sitting number two (having already had cornflakes before leaving the house) with no inkling of the corner I was about to paint myself into.

Now, it’s necessary for the ‘spoon-uninitiated to know they serve porridge in two varieties - with honey and banana or with blueberries - and I normally plump for the former, though this wasn’t possible today.
“What would you like, sir”, asked the bar staff in an attempt to sound formal while also making me feel I shouldn’t be there.
“Porridge with honey and banana, please”, I replied.
“We’re out of bananas.”
“Oh, okay…in which case, can I have it without the banana?”
“No, it’s been taken off the till”

Ironically, I usually carry a banana just in case (though in this case of what, I've no idea), but didn’t put one in my bag today; if I had it, perhaps we could have found some sort of compromise, if I’d bartered using my fruit as leverage.

I thought I’d found a way to break the system: “In which case, could I have the porridge with blueberries instead?”
“Sorry, we’re out of blueberries too.”
“In which case, I’ll just have the porridge then.”
“We’re out of porridge.”

Why did it take so long to be told this? Surely the lack of porridge should have been raised at the earliest opportunity, as opposed to the lack of extras. So I had to order a veggie breakfast instead, despite not wanting it; so much for a health kick.

Once I’d ordered my food, I went to the coffee machines to be faced by another brainteaser; there were two people in front of me, both of whom wanted hot drinks (I feel I’m setting up a GCSE Maths question). One wanted a tea and the other a white coffee, and the machine in front of the person who wanted tea’s selections were limited to just coffee and the coffee person wanted tea - but neither of them could work out the way to fix their problem that was absolutely glaring them in the face. I tried to chip in, but all I did was compound the confusion. It was at that point I thought I’d step aside; there’s just no accounting for the general public at breakfast time. 

Popular posts from this blog

Shakerpuppetmaker.

Have Parker from Thunderbirds and Noel Gallagher ever been seen in the same room? The resemblance is uncanny. So much so, I think something’s afoot. If my suspicions are correct, I've stumbled across a secret that will blow the music and puppet industry wide apart. In the mid-60s / mid-90s at least. It doesn’t take long to see the signposts. There’s the similarity between the name of Oasis’ first single, Supersonic, and Supermarianation, Gerry Anderson’s puppetry technique. The Gallagher brothers would often wear Parkas . Live Forever was clearly a reference to Captain Scarlet and Standing on the Shoulder of Giants to the size difference between Noel and his bandmates. The more you think about it, the more brazen it gets. It’s fishier than Area 51, Paul is Dead and JFK's assassination put together. The only glitch to the theory is scale . According to Wikipedia, Anderson’s marionettes were 1’10” and Gallagher is 5’8”. How does he maintain an illusion of avera...

'...I'm Gonna Look at You 'til My Eyes Go Blind."

Over the past week or two, I’ve been on a bit of a Sheryl Crow kick, largely thanks to rediscovering her cover of one of my most-liked Bob Dylan songs. She has one of my favourite female voices, yet despite this, I only own one CD and that’s just a single (her '97 release ‘Hard to Make a Stand’); on that basis, you can only imagine how much of her back catalogue I’d own if I hated her (it would fall into minus-figures). Dylan, conversely, takes up more of my collection than anyone else, save The Beatles and Paul McCartney’s solo work. He’s one of those artists who, when you get him, you really get him - and once I’d tuned into his style as a student, I'd time and again be blown away by his lyrics; he’ll have more jaw-dropping imagery in one track than other people fit in a whole career. These days, I mostly listen to music in the morning when getting ready, and more often than not, this will consist of a suggested YouTube playlist when I’m in the bath, r...

Stevenage: A (Tiny) River Runs Through it.

If ever a river was mis-sold, it’s the Roaring Meg in Stevenage. I just walked past it on my way to the retail park that has taken its name. They’re similarly uninspiring. The river is less of a roar and more of a dribble; cystitis sufferers produce greater flow. The retail park is soulless. What was once a thriving enterprise is nearly devoid of atmosphere, save an underlying essence of emptiness and despair. With a Toys R Us. When it was first built I was excited. Back then, the thought of a bowling alley, an ice rink, a Harvester and a Blockbuster Video within a small surface area was enticing. I celebrated many birthdays on site. There was an indoor cricket pitch there for a while where I once had a joint party with a friend. Why someone with an almost pathological fear of sport would agree to such a venture is beyond me, but I did it. Now, there’s very little at the Roaring Meg of note. The river would be a metaphor for the shopping ce...