IC was less than impressed when, at the Hoxton Hotel meeting friends early Sunday evening, we went to pay the bill for two Cocktails. Earlier, after my attentions for service were spurned by three or four waitresses over the course of fifteen minutes, I went to the bar myself to order a pair of Hazelnut Alexander’s. Twenty minutes later two rather disappointingly small puddles arrived on the fingertips of some churlish tart. An hour passed and IC and I left our friends in the restaurants to enjoy their meals, but before we left I had to pay for the drinks.
After a good ten minutes, stood up, the bill was finally calculated but only after a barrage of questions and the maître d having hushed consultations with the barman and a manager. It was clear we could’ve fucked off with impunity but being the honest sort we are and all that… The bill came to £13, plus £1.56 ‘service,’ £1.56 for some cliff-faced harridan to walk 10 yards with a fucking tray. I was surprised when my dyscalculia-addled brain presented me with the 10p cost per-step statistic, which I brought up as I jabbed a finger into the bill, then at the bar and then table on which we were sat, I swished an erect digit through the air to emphasise the 10p per step proximity. IC shrank into her shoes.
The bill was recalculated after I demanded the ‘service’ was removed, more hushed mutterings took place between the dour maître d and the surly manager and another five minutes passed before I was re-presented with a bill for the cost of the drinks only. ‘Good,’ I said, IC gave me a withering look. Fully aware I’d cost us more than enough time for the sake of a pound fifty, but with principles restored, I cheerfully tipped the astonished maître d two quid. Result. I think.
The weekend was nice, dinner out both Friday and Saturday, the latter with some of IC’s friends, all from Europe and only one of the them an English speaker, making for a surprisingly dynamic evening. We even wound up at a club where conversation was reduced to pointing and hugging. I needed to get drunk this weekend and we did, but in a happy way I hasten to add.
This blog will be sporadic right up until Wednesday week for reasons alluded to last post. The funeral is next Monday, so that’s something to look forward too.