It was definitely a fun weekend…something of a busman’s holiday for me, as I managed to combine taking part in and writing about Bristol Pride professionally with a day out in my old stomping ground of Bath and Bristol with the boy.
It was, too, a beginning to a conversation with him that has been long brewing …around tact and secrecy and discretion and lying and just where the boundary lies between those dreadfully adult ideas. Read the rest of this entry »
I know. I raised the spectacle of the “last meal” with my reference a few posts back to Jacques Brel’s “le dernier repas”.
And I really DON’T mean it quite like that. I like his song, because I like the idea of gathering one’s friends and relatives together and insulting people “one last time”. Although maybe without the insult.
It would just be a good excuse for a get-together in fairly calm fashion and for people to drop by and well-wish, or whatever one does.
So, two out-takes from the above. The first is that I am planning – unless the psych now sticks an oar in – to have a gentle weekend get-together on 9/10 July. Mostly 10 July, to be honest, but with leeway for anyone who wishes to travel a long way or is doing other stuff on the Sunday to drop round on the Saturday and share a cuppa (or a glass of wine), reminisce, denounce the political elites and generally have a laid back sort of day or two.
So, mostly things happening on Sunday, but… its open house, rather than full-blown party: so if you’d like to come, just start putting that date/those dates in your diary.
Oh. And it also means that people travelling a way are welcome to crash overnight on the Saturday/Sunday.
And the second out-take? Well, what would YOU make your last meal. And I know it isn’t my last meal. Rather, it’s a kind of free meal. Because once into the clinic on the Monday, I will be starving from early afternoon on. No. seriously. I arrive and get given NO food. I may sit and drool over the seriously lovely private care menus: but I may not eat (and I don’t think I get to eat again properly for another two or three days).
Thus, Sunday is a free hit, calorifically. I can binge on caviar and fudge, if such took my fancy (though it doesn’t). In the end, I probably won’t binge at all. I am so out of the habit of over-eating that it would take some effort to do so and make me feel quite ill – and the last thing I want is to turn up at the clinic either hung-over or with stomach cramps.
Still, perhaps I could opt for the light and dark. Chicken in a super-creamy sauce? And a dark choccie pud to follow? Hmmm. If there’s chilli in the pud, quite probably.
Or perhaps just the populist route: I could order a double kebab and chips. Except then I would alienate the anaesthetist!
Decisions, decisions – and an interesting dilemma that I’d be amused to hear back from others on. What would you do if you had a free meal?
jane
xx
