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