Sunday, 4 August 2013

Oh the places we'd go . . .

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Todd and I did something yesterday that we never ever do . . . we went out for a posh lunch at a semi posh restaurant.   Normally if we eat out we always eat as some place like MacDonald's, or there is a cheap carvery close by that we sometimes go to.  The food is always disappointing to a degree, there's no service whatsoever.  Probably the only positive things you can say about them is that it's a change of scenery . . . but yesterday we just said what the hey and went for it and decided to lunch in town.

We went to Cafe Rouge, which whilst not the Grosvenor .  .  . was a nice step up from our usual fare.  IN short we had a lovely time.   We ate off their lunch menu, a la carte and had the two course special, which was £11.95 per, so not that expensive to some, but a really big deal to us!  I had the goat's cheese salad to start and Todd had prawns and then we both had the Pork Tenderloin in Mustard Sauce for our main.  It was lovely, coming with perfectly cooked spinach and a lovely pile of mash, which didn't come from a packet.   Sometimes they have mash at the carvery, and it is always like glue.  Todd likes his mash, but even he doesn't like that!  

We had a perfectly lovely time and Todd said to me when we got home, "I really enjoyed this afternoon . . . we should do it more often."   I wish we could, but alas, we can't.  It got me to thinking though about all the things I would do if I only could . . . more often.

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Things like just being able to take off and go on adventures at the spur of the moment.  You know . . . just grab the dog and hop into the car and go where the mood takes you, with no worry about how you are going to put petrol in the car or even how far away it is because you have enough money to book into a B and B overnight.   Oh wouldn't that be lovely . . . who knows where we would end up.   We'd just drive until we felt like stopping . . .

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I don't drink tea per se, only herbal infusions, but I have always wanted to experience tea in a really posh restaurant like the Ritz . . . a place where they bring tiered trays of finger sandwiches to the table along with plates of cakes and scones  . . . little crystal bowls of preserves and clotted cream . . . scones so tall they amaze you, with dark nuggets of sultanas peeking out all over their surface, you just know they will be so delicious.   A place where they call you Madame and Sir, and bow ever so slightly when addressing you . . . oh boy, I'm really dreaming now!

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Oh how I would love to spend a week or two in the South of France in a stone cottage out in the countryside, with bicycles in the shed so that when the mood hit us we could take ourselves off through the country lanes, riding in the sunshine with a basket filled with a crusty baguette, a lump of good cheese and a mason jar filled with cold lemonade, French lemonade.   We'd stop for an impromptu picnic by the road way and I'd pick daisies and wind them into a chain to wear around my neck and we wouldn't come home until the sun was waning in the sky . . .

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I have always longed to stick my head out of the car and just let the wind blow in my face and enjoy the feeling for what it is . . . it is only the fear of having my head knocked off that holds me back.  We were watching Miss Potter the other night, for the umpteenth time and there is a scene near the beginning where she gets her coach driver to drive her really fast through the London Parks.   She sticks her head out the window of the coach and just lets the wind blow in her face.   I'd love to do that . . . with abandon.  What a glorious feeling it must be . . . to just let go like that . . . without fear.

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Stand in a field filled with sunflowers, without worry about getting stung or anything.   To feel at one with all of those golden blooms, face turned to the sun.  We lived in a farm house once upon a time and the farmer across the road from us grew bird seed and his field was filled with sunflowers come the end of summer . . .  a sunflower field in Tuscany would be more my style though.  I mean, if you're going to dream about these things, Tuscany has a better feel to it, don't you think?

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Riding in a hot air balloon on a nice summer's day . . . floating across the horizon and looking down at the patchwork of green fields and forests below . . . the sound of the fire thingie rushing hot air up into the balloon every so often . . . just floating . . . floating . . . floating.  Being able to wave at the people below who are looking up and wishing that they were floating across the horizon and looking down too . . .
Sigh . . .

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I have always wanted to go to Venice . . . I have been told there is a very special feeling in Venice, almost an ethereal feeling.  I will probably never know . . . but a gal can dream . . .

What would you do if you could???  I'd love to hear about it!

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I was fooling around the other afternoon in the craft room and this came out.   It's different, I'll say that much for it!

A thought to carry with you today . . .

Happiness is not a matter of events, 
it depends upon the tides of the mind.
~Alice Meynell

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A quick breakfast cooking in The English Kitchen today . . . Chocolate and Sea-Salt Bagel Bruschetta!
Enjoy your sabbath!

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