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Last night I had another one of my strange dreams and I’m starting to wonder if they’re not induced by my favourite malted milk drink, Horlicks.
Now I’ve never met Douglas Alexander, Shadow Secretary of State for Work and Pensions, but last night he collected me in his 2.0L Mondeo Zetec (in Moondust silver) and whisked me away to The Jack in the Green restaurant at Rockbeare, near Exeter.
I had a lovely braised shoulder of West Country veal with pumpkin risotto,while Douglas plumped for rump, and a 10oz steak with smoked mash potato and peppercorn sauce. He ordered a bottle of light and fruity Pinot Noir and I had an apple and mango J2O.
The conversation was lively. We chatted about the Government’s plans to raise the pension age. He was interested in DBLW’s new electronic cash register. He gave me the inside track on Paisley and Renfrewshire South. I explained why I’m boycotting Hair Today Hair Tomorrow. He laughed when I told him about Flo’s mishap on our recent minibus safari through the Haldon Forest. He had me in stitches with his tales of high jinx in The Department of Transport.
If I’d have been 10 years younger, and Douglas hadn’t been happily married, I would almost certainly have played footsie with the dashing Member but… alas, it was not to be. He took flight at the sound of my Goblin teasmade and I woke up alone. My dream date was just that.
I shall be having an extra large mug of Horlicks tonight in the hope that I can tempt Douglas back to our table, and we can share the sticky toffee pudding with butterscotch sauce that we both drooled over.
What a day Flo and I have had today. We travelled together down to St Ives in Cornwall to watch their annual hurling the silver ball contest. It wasn’t as cold as it has been of late but I took no chances and wore my lighthouse fleece. I had tried to persuade Flo to wear hers but she opted instead for a rather unflattering khaki windcheater.
It was an early start, my Goblin started vibrating at 5:30am. It’s only a hundred miles but it takes almost four hours by train, with one change at St Erth, all of which meant we didn’t get into St Ives until 10:55am by which time the festivities had already begun.
The taxi driver probably cursed us as we asked to be transported the five hundred yards from the taxi rank to the seafront but he could see that my legs weren’t up to it. He was a miserable so-and-so anyway so I didn’t feel too sorry for him; ex-fisherman I reckon.
The harbourside was teaming with people, and quite a lot of children who should probably have been in school. Flo and I moved through the crowds like Exocet missiles, homing in on the Sloop Inn. An hour later we were sat enjoying spicy potato wedges with a sweet chilli dip in very agreeable surroundings.
We never leave St Ives without partaking in a Cornish pasty. After my Christmas vegetarian epiphany I chose cheese and onion while Flo went up-market with a chicken curry pasty. We then duped another salty taxi driver into taking us back to the railway station as we left behind a snowstorm of pastry flakes on the upholstery for his troubles. And so back to Exeter St David where we caught an executive coach back to Cheriton Bishop where Flo’s daughter Kirsty was waiting to drive us the short distance to Appleton Marsh.
I must remember to reset the teasmade before I go to sleep tonight.
Friendly banter