Apparently, my wife is a 'milf'. That was what I was told this week by one of her best girlfriends and sitting opposite her in The Cottage on Silver Road last night I found myself thinking 'yes, she is'. Not that Beth realises she is. She is completely oblivious to the admiring glances she receives from men. It happens all the time. I have been with many many beautiful women (and some damned ugly ones too) but none have ever received the level of attention that Beth attracts. It feels kind of weird knowing that every bloke in the room wants to shag your missus but there it is - it's a burden that I will have to put up with for the rest of my life.
Beth and I were in The Cottage to celebrate Daniel's birthday - which just happens to coincide with St Patrick's Day. We had intended to eat somewhere posh but events beyond our control led us to one of Norwich's last remaining 'proper pubs'. The place was packed and an Irish band were playing. The barmaid offered us homemade Irish stew and colcannon along with a pint for £6 - and it was delicious. Compare that to my experience at Shiki (see previous post) and I'd have to say Anglo-Irish 1 Japan 0.
There is something about our relationship with the Irish. It's almost okay that they attempt to blow us up from time to time. Their zest for the simple pleasures of food and drink and music appear at first to be a reflection of their state of evolution. But in reality, it's the 'advanced' nations that could learn a thing or two - like those that build nuclear reactors on moving tectonic plates... I am certain that our evolution is finite. In eating and drinking and shitting and pissing and dancing and laughing and having sex, the Irish have it about right.
The stuff of life was very much brought home to us yesterday when we learnt of the death of one of our NCT friends. He leaves behind a young family and our thoughts and prayers are with them. Imagine having to tell a three-year old child that their father has died. How utterly dreadful. Beth and I cuddled up on the settee at home and agreed that we are a very lucky family indeed.
All of this rather distracted me from my work. Or perhaps, for a moment, I lost interest in what I do. In the pub, surrounded by people with careers and salaries, for a split second I thought 'what the fuck am I doing?'. Then I looked at my watch but didn't notice the time; I noticed that is was a fine 1972 Moeris Swiss automatic. Suddenly I was back on my path.
The Moeris (pictured), which is an official James Bond wristwatch, isn't mine, unfortunately. It's in our next sale on Thursday, 24th March at St Andrew's Hall. We're currently accepting entries for that so do please contact us if you are interested in selling your antiques and valuables. After all 'Nobody does it better'
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