Second week of the holiday. It started badly. We discovered our cottage was on a main road with barely a pavement separating the house from the road. Nowhere to park to unload our stuff, including shopping for the week. There is a pub opposite our house which everyone told us was great. So I parked in the pub car park to unload and started doing so.
Pub landlord comes out and points to the painted sign on the tarmac ‘Pub patrons only”. I said yeah, I’m sorry - I’m just unloading as you can see and we’re here for the week - we’ll be in the pub later.
If you haven’t got a pint on the table right now, move your car.
I said I’ll be down your pub later.
Then a lecture about holiday cottages spoiling the villages; hey, I get it. I agree with you. But can you not just…
So I go to the hotel carpark, book the car in for a week, and shlep all the stuff 100m back and forth from the car to the cottage.
And after that I never went to his pub. That’s the deal.
Pass the SALT
Apparently I said a few sentences the other morning with all the meaningful stuff missing. I was trying to describe an angle grinder my mate bought from Aldi and nothing made any sense to anyone. That’s pretty worrying as it would indicate I need a Speech and Language Therapist (SALT).
A big day of Neuropsychological tests on my return home. This will be an exhausting day but worth it.