Monday, 25 January 2010

Week 17

Restaurants are generally pretty nice. You sit down, you eat, you have a couple of glasses of wine. You have a nice conversation. Someone does a shit next to you. No?

Oh, right, that’s because it’s rude to openly display faeces in a room where people are not only eating, but paying to eat. Still, that didn’t stop a Spanish lady from coming over to the table next to ours to change her baby’s nappy on Saturday night. I was just minding my own business, trying to eat a Peruvian goat, and there she was, cooing and fussing over the little mite as if it had done something unbelievably clever. If it’s so completely fine, I wondered, if it’s so normal and natural and fine, why have you come across the restaurant to our table? Eh? I am eating food here, you selfish, deviant maniac!

And with that, I resolved to take my revenge. While she bagged up the disposable nappy, I marched over to her table, sat on her chair and shat myself, as hard as I could. My red, shaking face was a mirror image of her child’s toilet grimace, but apparently not as adorable. Still, too bad.
Christina, understanding my protest, soon joined in. Hoisting me onto the table, she pushed my legs aloft and, borrowing a couple of wipes from the startled Spaniard, began industriously cleaning me. The job done, we returned to our seats, finished our meal and left.

Okay, we didn’t. We sat in outraged silence, shaking our heads in impotent disbelief. Don’t get me wrong, I like the fact that Spanish, French and Italian people take their kids to restaurants. Their kids are usually pretty well-behaved, and I don't mind a couple of little people running about while I eat. But a poo! A poo is too far, madam. Too far by half.

Handball: BCN take on a team from, er, somewhere else. Goooal! Or is it? Don't know.

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