Fuck.

The title of this entry is irrelevant to all that follows. I just felt it was time I did something to warrant that adult warning button you have to click before you're allowed to approach the campfire. Choosing to have the warning there in the first place was just a small bit of self-amusement. It serves no real purpose other than to make folk wonder. And, hey, if I can create wonder in a few people every now and then, well, surely life's worthwhile.
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It's ten degrees outside at the moment. Esteemed Spouse and I have just returned from a very mediocre dinner at a nearby suburb. We won't be rushing back to that establishment, although it will do if our chosen restaurant is closed. As it was tonight.

Who on earth would close a restaurant on a Wednesday? I remember the Wednesdays of my youth. (Some of them.) Gosh, they were frenetic! Midweek escapes to hotels and discos; late movies, later closing pubs and too-late homeward staggers. Wednesday night was always a crowded time. What has happened to the youth of today?? Wimps.

I had a glass of drinkable shiraz with my "Surf and Turf". Yes, that's what they actually called the meal. Who said the 70s are dead? The oversized lump of dead animal and the pale but huge prawns that perched on it were actually very reasonable; the thin triangles of firm, unskinned pumkin were not. Nor were the boiled potatoes, which looked rather like those exotic balls of coarsely ground meat served at Lebanese restaurants, but lacked all taste and texture.

The entire staff at this place was Asian, except for our waitress, whose accent, hair and powerful breasts hinted at something of the Viking. She was too pleasant to be picked on, so we interspersed our conversation with comments about the odd couple sitting near us. He was old and clerkish; she was young and vivacious. Their constant, brief and fleeting touches had us intrigued. This most unlikely match gave their actions an insinuation of something gently illicit, and made me feel vaguely happy that they had managed to organise this time alone together, even though they looked so silly doing it. They themselves were determinedly chatting sotto voce, so I presume they were talking about us.

For various reasons we had not been out together for a while and this evening reminded us of the sweetness of dinner conversation, when the world outside the restaurant ceases to be and all the world inside the restaurant seems to be there for us alone. The indulgence of people-watching brought us joy, too, and took our minds from our inevitable tomorrows.

It is probably less than ten degrees outside now. I've put our electric blanket on full bore. I hope the odd couple are together.