30days30years

Churchills

I might have told this story before about how each Christmas my mother and I have a disagreement. We argue over the list. It’s simple really. I write a list of possible presents she can get me for Christmas and give it to her, expecting then that I will receive things that I actually need rather than random gifts I may not have a need for.

Every time I hand her my list she says she’s already got me everything she intends to buy. Consequently “DON’T DEVIATE FROM THE LIST!”  has become a catch cry of sorts in our household over the years.

I should have taken my own advice when I went to The Churchill Arms, a unique little English pub in Notting Hill, for dinner this evening.

I arrived in London from Serbia early this morning and spent the morning washing my “shitty jeans”.

Why didn’t I just throw them out? I hear you ask. Well under normal circumstances I would have but they are the only long pants I have with me, having given 90 per cent of my clothes away to those in need. It was either, washed “shitty” jeans or shorts. It was cold. I went for the jeans.

I am still a bit ginger after my ordeal yesterday but I managed to make it through a quiet lunch with my old uni friend Sarah, Dale, Lisa, Dave and three of Sarah’s friends.

I hadn’t eaten anything for 24 hours besides half a banana on the bus and a nibble of an ANZAC biscuit at Todd’s this morning and could barely stomach the salad I ordered for lunch.

But when dinner time came and Dale suggested the Thai restaurant out the back of Churchills – one of my regular haunts when I lived in London – my stomach decided to perk up.

I usually order the “number 6” which is basically chicken, vegetables and flat noodles in this gravy sauce. I ordered it the first time I ever went there and it is so delicious that I’ve never order anything else. Until today.

I decided that I needed to order something hearty and so instead opted for a Pad Thai which always looks good. Big mistake. I’m now feeling crook as a dog again!

Speaking of dogs, I’m not sure how much of the stench the eco cycle on Dale’s washing machine was able to get out of my jeans. We were walking in the back streets of Notting Hill en route to Churchills when this woman walked past with her dog. The dog decided I was too good a smell to give up and made a beeline to sniff my jeans. The woman was like, “What do you have in your jeans? You must have something.” If you only knew lady if you only knew. 🙂 🙂 🙂