With apologies, for I'm truly sorry to bring you a title like this on a Monday morning, very possibly as you eat your breakfast.
There we were, last week at the Cricket Club Cafe, when the legendary David Blacker turned up. I wouldn't normally use the word "legendary" to describe someone but he specifically requested it, so it's in.
He kindly gave me a very wonderful present; the copy of his book above, complete with personalised message. I kid you not when I say it's something I'm truly grateful for and I promise to read it very soon.
He sat down and we chewed the cud for a while. It was mens' talk, of cars mostly, why the Ariel Atom could only ever be a third car for most men, something C seemed to totally fail to understand yet surely must be obvious to the average man.
After a bit I asked him what he wanted to drink, as you do. For the last couple of weeks the chap has been moaning incessantly about having a stomach upset of sorts. I'm sure any of his other friends will tell you the same, give him the slightest opportunity and he's been going on and on about it. Tales of how he's had to stay in, tone down his wild life, eat simply and drink next to nothing have been pouring out of him like nobody's business.
So it wasn't really a surprise when he turned down the offer of an alcoholic beverage because of the gastro thing and said he'd just have something simple and plain. He perused the menu before making his carefully thought out selection.
I reckon I'm a normal sort of bloke, well, you know, perhaps a bit shorter and a bit more stupid than average but on the whole quite normal. And, when I've got an upset stomach I do exactly the same, I eat simple things, meals and snacks that will settle, not antagonise my stomach.
DB, as we call him in these parts, placed his order and we carried on conversing. I thought little of it as his chosen food and b. arrived at the table some minutes later.
But, about ten minutes later, it hit me.
"Hold on DB" I said.
"You're supposed to have gastroenteritis, or whatever. How's food and drink like that going to help your stomach?"
He looked at table in front of him, as did C and as did I.
"WTF?" We all thought. Simultaneously. Even DB, who had chosen the stuff.
His "simple" stomach settling choice?
Was it some plain grilled chicken with a glass of water? Was it a portion of french fries with a glass of Coke?
Like hell was it.
It was a glass of iced tea, with an accompanying dessert consisting of papaya, chocolate fudge and ice cream. He wolfed it down anyhow.
He's mental that bloke.
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