Dear Diary, the visit to the Museum was fascinating, in a number of ways.
It is many years since my last visit to a museum, and I had forgotten about the Mummies lying in their coffins [boxes] on show for the world to see. Poor Mummies! I hurried past feeling rather sad that people actually came to stand and stare at the dear departed, even if they departed way back in the annals of time. It was akin to driving past a cemetery and seeing the headstones, standing like sentinels, their jam jars of plastic flowers adding a splash of colour. I often wonder what will happen in another five hundred years when the graves threaten to overtake the towns. I know I won't be around to comment then, but I do wonder.
However Dear Diary the revelation of the day occurred while we were awaiting our meal at the intimate eating-house. Niece ordered a healthy chicken salad, while I, feeling daring, ordered a cheese concoction, a soufflé type dish, which was light but extremely tasty.
We had a seat near an area designed to resemble an outdoor garden, sheltered of course by a all encompassing glass roof, with blinds to keep out the worst of the mid-day sun. Tables for two, four, and eight were arranged to give the maximum privacy for dining, and a background of gentle, quiet, music helped create an ambience designed to soothe the soul.
Niece and I were discussing the pros and cons of the different displays at the Museum when I heard Niece gasp. My back was to the door; I noticed nothing untoward. Niece leaned forward, touching me on the arm, and with the other hand, pointed towards the entrance.
"Don't look now!" she said.
I looked!
Dear Diary, I could hardly believe my eyes. There, standing at the reception was a short, very rotund, bottle blonde woman [the word lady did not enter my thoughts at all], dressed in the most revolting shade of shocking pink with white high heeled sandals. Had the day been warm; had the wearer been forty years younger, I probably would never have cast a second glance. This was an obvious case of mutton dressed up as lamb. I almost asked Niece to pass the mint sauce!
While the newly arrived customer attracted my attention, I will admit that it was her companion that made my eyes pop out of their sockets. Dear Diary, Harold is on the outer! Because the man guiding Ms Shocking Pink was none other than Harold; the same Harold who had only the other day acted as though I was his chosen one.
I must have stared; one could hardly help it!
Ms Shocking Pink, noticing my undivided attentions, stretched up and whispered in Harold's ear ... in his ear in broad daylight! ... such a cheap move Dear Diary. Harold twisted around in response to her whisperings, and turning a bright shade of pink ... in embarrassment? ... he gave a slight smile in our direction before steering his companion across the other side of the room.
Our delicious meal arrived; Niece and I concentrated on our plates, and later exited without acknowledging Harold, or his companion.
Dear Diary, we live and learn.
It is many years since my last visit to a museum, and I had forgotten about the Mummies lying in their coffins [boxes] on show for the world to see. Poor Mummies! I hurried past feeling rather sad that people actually came to stand and stare at the dear departed, even if they departed way back in the annals of time. It was akin to driving past a cemetery and seeing the headstones, standing like sentinels, their jam jars of plastic flowers adding a splash of colour. I often wonder what will happen in another five hundred years when the graves threaten to overtake the towns. I know I won't be around to comment then, but I do wonder.
However Dear Diary the revelation of the day occurred while we were awaiting our meal at the intimate eating-house. Niece ordered a healthy chicken salad, while I, feeling daring, ordered a cheese concoction, a soufflé type dish, which was light but extremely tasty.
We had a seat near an area designed to resemble an outdoor garden, sheltered of course by a all encompassing glass roof, with blinds to keep out the worst of the mid-day sun. Tables for two, four, and eight were arranged to give the maximum privacy for dining, and a background of gentle, quiet, music helped create an ambience designed to soothe the soul.
Niece and I were discussing the pros and cons of the different displays at the Museum when I heard Niece gasp. My back was to the door; I noticed nothing untoward. Niece leaned forward, touching me on the arm, and with the other hand, pointed towards the entrance.
"Don't look now!" she said.
I looked!
Dear Diary, I could hardly believe my eyes. There, standing at the reception was a short, very rotund, bottle blonde woman [the word lady did not enter my thoughts at all], dressed in the most revolting shade of shocking pink with white high heeled sandals. Had the day been warm; had the wearer been forty years younger, I probably would never have cast a second glance. This was an obvious case of mutton dressed up as lamb. I almost asked Niece to pass the mint sauce!
While the newly arrived customer attracted my attention, I will admit that it was her companion that made my eyes pop out of their sockets. Dear Diary, Harold is on the outer! Because the man guiding Ms Shocking Pink was none other than Harold; the same Harold who had only the other day acted as though I was his chosen one.
I must have stared; one could hardly help it!
Ms Shocking Pink, noticing my undivided attentions, stretched up and whispered in Harold's ear ... in his ear in broad daylight! ... such a cheap move Dear Diary. Harold twisted around in response to her whisperings, and turning a bright shade of pink ... in embarrassment? ... he gave a slight smile in our direction before steering his companion across the other side of the room.
Our delicious meal arrived; Niece and I concentrated on our plates, and later exited without acknowledging Harold, or his companion.
Dear Diary, we live and learn.
No comments:
Post a Comment