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?