Mr B and I decide to take a trip to the local pub for lunch. Or, rather, I decided and Mr B, somewhat surprisingly, was Up For It. I did have an ulterior motive, to be honest, because I need to be at the new Trustee Club
at 5 p.m. ready to introduce the first in a series of Master Classes to help local trustees ensure their governance arrangements are up to scratch. Lunch at the pub means that I won't have to worry about preparing an evening meal for Mr B before I go out -
which would be way too early. Or when I return which would be - yes, you've guessed it - way too late.
It's ages since we last visited The Golden Lion which is
our local of choice, based partly on the cheapness of its fare but, even more importantly, on its accessibility. Plus the presence of lots of bar-leaning fellas who always, but always, are ready to lend a hand when it comes to opening doors, shifting chairs
and moving out of the way of the Grandadmobile - though the latter is probably mostly in the interests of self-preservation.
Our last visit, accompanied by grandson
Jack, was a bit of a disappointment on account of the fact that we were all seduced by the idea of a ridiculously cheap steak meal. As Mr B commented later, you get what you pay for where steak is concerned. Our favourite table was also taken up by a solitary
chap nursing a pint of bitter so we couldn't sit there - Mr B said I should have asked the fella to move but, really, it's not the Done Thing, now is it? I mean, this morning on the Pulse bus travelling into town, a man asked a fellow passenger to move his
shopping bag out of the luggage bay so that he could perch there - you should have heard the tutting from others on the bus at his sheer temerity.
fondly, the days when a trip to the pub meant nothing more energetic than a saunter down the road and back. Now it's a military operation involving driving the Grandadmobile out of the garage, setting the portable ramps in place at the front door, pushing
Mr B’s wheelchair down the ramps and into the front garden, helping him transfer from wheelchair to mobility scooter, then removing the ramps until our return home - when we will have to go through the whole process again but in reverse. You have to
really, really want to take a trip out…
Once we are seated at “our” table, we can look around and take note of the fact that the customary Thursday
frequenters of The Golden Lion are out in force. The guys from the Indoor Bowls Club have taken possession of their usual table over in one corner and are engaged in heated conversation, probably on Bowls Related topics though we are too far away for even
my long ears to eavesdrop satisfactorily. A party of Ladies Who Lunch are seated in cosy companionship at a round table just across the way from us. There's lots of chatter in the air.
Mr B and I talk about Family Matters. About the Youngest of the Darling Daughters’ plans to give me a weekend away with my sister and brother in law while she and her husband take over the care of Mr B. We are both looking forward
to it. About how much Jack and husband girlfriend Zoë seem to have enjoyed the views over London from the top of The Shard. About Our Rascal falling ill after just three days at “Giant School.” We even talk about Christmas, for heaven’s
Mr B predicts, gloomily, that it will rain on our way home. It doesn't. I am pleased, indeed, that Someone Up There is looking out for us. Okay, it
does start to rain soon after we arrive back which means I will doubtless get very wet waiting in the rain for the Pulse bus to transport me to my evening meeting - but, hey, I’ll settle for that.
On the way home, Mr B spots a menu board outside a local café advertising liver and bacon. If they will allow us to re-arrange the tables so we can get the Grandadmobile inside, then he reckons we should try it next
time we feel like eating out. We pick up a menu from a table outside so that he can peruse it at his leisure. Just in case there is something even more appealing than liver and bacon on offer.
The way to Mr B’s heart is obviously through food. While I, as you all know by now, am Always Thinking About My Stomach.
We are so well suited, Mr B and I. Stomachs United!