I’m going into some caves this weekend. I’m going to be a mad-looking bugger with a light shining from my forehead.
So the incredibly slow-moving story of Raylene will have to continue on Monday.
I’m going with a couple, as the third wheel, being a friend of the man. The woman has not necessarily warmed to me. I’ll say “yet”, because she doesn’t actually hate me. But I have boring conversations about music with her boyfriend.
I’ll be at a hotel built in the 19th Century, which makes it an old, even ancient, building in this part of the world.
It used to be wonderfully old-fashioned – a roast on Sundays in the restaurant, served by doddery but learned male waiters, with no female waiters – but it’s been done up. Now there will be dishes with a pistachio and marrow jus, and so on, served by a beautiful German girl, nearly seven feet tall, who speaks better English than most of the guests, making a bit of money to keep her holiday going.
I don’t think one is better than the other: it’s just that the old-fashioned version is rarer.
Anyway, this weekend I’m a cave man: big boots, mad bugger forehead-light, club. Normal service will be resumed shortly.