So Summer finished (although I’d argue it never really got started to any great degree)… You can tell because they’re taking down all the outside seating areas they put up back in… whenever it was people started getting all optimistic?
You can also tell because it’s raining so hard my trousers are soaked through (although to be fair there was a shower in July which got me wetter quicker – I only got 20 metres down the street before I had to turn back), hence I’ve taken them off and address you now only semi-clothed. My pants are actually soaked through too, which is rather uncomfortable, but I couldn’t immediately think of any hot places which rhymed with “tackle out” or “nicky nacky noos”, and you know what I’m like for research.
So what did you miss? Everything… Nothing… I’d promise to bring you up to speed, but if you believed me then you are clearly as naive as I am (or this is your first visit to my blog). I do genuinely intend to write some posts about the summer, but if I’m honest, the pressure of thinking about doing that is more likely to stop me from writing anything, so be careful what I wish for.
However, as Autumn is a time for rebirth and a fresh start… What do you mean Spring is the time for rebirth and Autumn is a time for death? Surely if one is to die then one needs to participate in some form of rebirth? Otherwise one would remain dead, and I certainly have no intention of doing that.
Anyway, one of the few things I miss about the UK (was that a seamless segue or what?) is English breakfast, and the other day I was in a rather nice bar and noticed they served one (until 4pm and the bar only opens at 2pm, but logistically that was doable).
They didn’t call it an English breakfast. They called it завтрак четыре (zaftrak chetirye – breakfast four), but essentially it seemed as close as I was gonna get without going to an English themed pub, and everyone knows that ain’t cool.
So I went there this afternoon, full of hope, and it arrived looking like this. Not your typical English sausage, and they’ve done something fancy with that butter, but I’m pretty pleased with that.
The real surprise was the quality of the bacon, which is one thing Johnny Foreigner seems to find incredibly difficult with a full English. My most disappointing bacon was experienced whilst living in Sweden. It wasn’t the worst bacon I’ve ever had, but it was certainly the most disappointing, mainly because of Sweden’s proximity to Denmark, and the pride with which much bacon served in the UK shouts about it’s Danish roots. The Swedes just don’t do bacon very well at all.
Actually there were two surprises with my breakfast today. The other, more tragic surprise, was that the beans were served cold!!! Like some kind of a saucy beany side salad! Jesus suffering F**k, why? What kind of an evil mother-lovin’ son-of-a-biscuit would do that to me?
My only guess was that it’s some kind of revenge hatched by the FBI, because I still haven’t bought them those drinks back.
Anyway, if someone can suggest a non-English-themed eatery which serves a decent English breakfast in St Pete then I’ll treat you to one. That’s just the kinda nice guy I am!