The other day we woke up and realised it was breakfast-out day. We all piled in the car and had the usual arguments about where to go. The adults wanted somewhere nice, the kids wanted somewhere with one of those Dyson hand-driers in the toilets. Eventually they won and off we went, Huw bought off by the selection of all-day-breakfasts and me by the fact that the coffees could be large.
We settled down and ordered. All was very nice and Huw and I both ordered the veggie breakfast, and we chatted away like the pleasant family we are. In the far corner was an older couple and three of what looked like their grandkids, also having a pleasant time.
The lad came out from the kitchen and shouted, “NUMBER mumble mumble, TWO VEGGIE BREAKFASTS!” We were about to raise our hands, when the older couple did and he checked with them, put the meals down and went back to the kitchen. I thought nothing else of it. Huw watched with a suspicious look on his face. The lad then came out of the kitchen with the exact combination of what our kids had ordered. “What a coincidence,” I smiled, ever the well-meaning fool.
Huw was more cynical: “That’s our food.”
The waiter was discussing the order with the older couple and eventually he picked up the two plates and walked back to the kitchen. Then he fetched the children’s order and brought it over to our table. “Beans on toast and two bacon sandwiches?” He put the food down and muttered about going back to fetch ours.
With a flaming red face he walked back to our table and put two veggie breakfasts down and mumbled about fetching the toast. Huw and I looked at each other. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Normally I would tuck into my breakfast with the same way that I tuck into everything – with abandonment and very little thought. But this time, something didn’t feel right…
Maybe it was the fact that my hash brown was already cut up. Maybe it was the sprinkling of pepper over my beans, or maybe it was just the bite-sized chunk that was missing out of my veggie sausage, but something wasn’t right…
I looked over to the older couple. The man was still chewing, although he had no meal in front of him. His wife was still telling him off. The kids were looking at our table longingly.
"This isn’t the breakfast that was just over there, is it?” Huw asked the waiter when he dumped the toast on our table as he ran past.
“No! Good lord, no…”
“Then why’s it got pepper on and a bite out of my sausage?”
“Er, I’ll just check in the kitchen – they might have got it wrong by mistake…”
Ten minutes later, another two breakfasts arrived and we felt a little redeemed – especially as my plate had an extra sausage on.
The moral of the story? If you are not sure it’s yours – eat the whole sausage…
"The various twists and turns of each plot meant that I could hardly stop reading each night!"
The Western Mail
The Western Mail