The holiday did get off to a shaky start at The Hen and Chickens in Abergavenny. Yes, I'm naming and shaming the place, because despite this review in the Guardian of all places, it was a side street dive that deep-fried everything. I'm not usually averse to a grease-fest now and again, but the roast chicken and salad looked like it had been prepared in our local kebab shop.
I'd settled for an all-day breakfast, as you know what you're getting with those, and Ned chose the same. After what seemed like an age (which was only so bad as we had three hungry children), the food arrived, and fair play, the breakfasts were massive. Not good quality, but massive. It makes up for a lot in my book.
As I was still sorting the table and settling everyone in, Ned started cutting his sausage, and with the pressure of his knife managed to tip his entire meal into his lap. Rather than dealing with the pile of beans and egg that were busy burning his crotch, he just went in to panic mode and froze, leaving me to scrape a fresh breakfast out of his lap! Of course, it wasn't confined to him - it was all over the bench and floor, so I scooped it up with bean juice oozing through my fingers, and just dumped it on his plate. There was no salvaging it - the dog hairs that it had clearly picked up on the way down were to obvious to ignore. And so what happened?
Ned had my breakfast.
Yes, I'm grumbling about it now, but it was the only option - while I trundled back to the car to get him a change of clothes, he ate my breakfast. I think I deserve some sort of medal, frankly! Oh well, at least the rest of the holiday improved from there.
Briefly in work news, we had a week of the Afrovibes festival which was performance, dance and music, mainly from South Africa, which was really successful, and a lot of fun. Then on Saturday night we had Lenny Henry in. I've never been a fan, and that show didn't change my opinion, but despite the rumours that he could be a tricky customer, he proved to be quiet and serious and no trouble at all. I love it when it happens that way round. Next week we've got an amateur production of Annie in for the duration. I shall have to sit through the show at least four times, something I'm not desperately looking forward to, but I'd still rather be there than down a coal mine.