A bite with 'Anton'
A quiet day at Kenny Towers. Lorraine and Beth rebooting the diet and involved in lengthy mathematical discussions about targets, calories and weights and driving off to buy special foods. I indulged in the luxury of yet another afternoon sleep. This pesky chest infection is very draining.
In the evening however I rallied magnificently and sauntered down to the nearby Preston Park Tavern where, eventually, I met Anton, both of us in the pub for ten minutes without actually seeing each other. Excellent to see Anton of course after his trips to the US and Bulgaria and ours to Greece. He bore dispiriting news, however. He has taken up running. He takes every opportunity he can to run everywhere now. He goes down to the seafront to run every morning, he runs to the bakers and the shops. He was looking fit and springy and tanned, from a enjoyable holiday among friendly, hospitable Bulgarians on the Black Sea coast. All the silent sullen ones must have convened at the Hotel Kamelia.
From there we sauntered down to The Joker, where we dined on woof woof wings and curly fries. Anton scavenging the fries I'd left, because, as he pointed out, running gives you such an appetite. The person I was out with certainly looked like Anton, and said Anton-like things about smoking cigarettes while running etc. but I'm not entirely convinced.
After a last drink in the Hare and Hounds, 'Anton' sprang across the road like a young gazelle to grab a taxi, leaving me to wheeze thoughtfully up the hill.
In the evening however I rallied magnificently and sauntered down to the nearby Preston Park Tavern where, eventually, I met Anton, both of us in the pub for ten minutes without actually seeing each other. Excellent to see Anton of course after his trips to the US and Bulgaria and ours to Greece. He bore dispiriting news, however. He has taken up running. He takes every opportunity he can to run everywhere now. He goes down to the seafront to run every morning, he runs to the bakers and the shops. He was looking fit and springy and tanned, from a enjoyable holiday among friendly, hospitable Bulgarians on the Black Sea coast. All the silent sullen ones must have convened at the Hotel Kamelia.
From there we sauntered down to The Joker, where we dined on woof woof wings and curly fries. Anton scavenging the fries I'd left, because, as he pointed out, running gives you such an appetite. The person I was out with certainly looked like Anton, and said Anton-like things about smoking cigarettes while running etc. but I'm not entirely convinced.
After a last drink in the Hare and Hounds, 'Anton' sprang across the road like a young gazelle to grab a taxi, leaving me to wheeze thoughtfully up the hill.
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