Ok, so now the world is totally over it - Valentine's Day is done. Oh and seriously, does it have an apostrophe? It should, shouldn't it?
So what did I do? Well, I went to Hamleys with the girlfriend after lazing in bed. It was really lovely actually and I (finally) got my Dad a birthday gift. Still haven't sent it though, so well, yeah - might as well not have got anything...
After that I went to dinner with my pretty young lady in Chinatown. Great little area of London, and really nicely decorated.
First restaurant: off the main strip as we've had a few horror stories relayed about being ripped off by cheeky restaurantiers overcharging but disguising it on the bill by writing in Chinese. And if there are Chinese people eating there... well it's gotta be good, right?
First problem was that we were told "no seats on ground floor". Strange, I could see like 20... but OK, it's Valentine'(?)s Day, reservations no doubt. Second floor was upstairs. Or what, to me, seemd like back-stairs. Passed some dodgily dressed guy and the wreck of a once grand dining table and arrived swing door. The person who sent us aloft to the higher floors had vanished. I was not impressed thus far. It suddenly occurred to me that they must just house every Chinese person downstairs to get people like me to go "ooh, lots of Chinese here, must be good", get me in the door then seat me with all the other suckers, serve me downstairs' turn-aways and garnish them with phelgm.
Anyhoo - sat down. Sorry, "squeezed" down, inbetwixt an American family and some young londers. I say American "family" - they were really just a couple, but I presume they were storing their 19 dishes in their mouths to feed the babes waiting in their nest. On the other side a the young group began arguing how much they should barter off for their meal. One complained that the orange bowl for free was a nice gesture, but not at the expense of having all their dishes in the wrong order, the allergies of one member ignored and the distinct lack of rice in the special fried rice. That being why it was special, one can only presume. As their arguments about requesting 15, 20, 30% off or not even paying at all for the shocking service I stole a quick glance at the sweeter side of me and she agreed we exit.
Restaurant 2, although a walk and a bit on the really-quite-cold evening was far more professional, welcoming and well,
nice. Opted for the set menu and had a pleasant surprise as each course was delivered - they made an effort to present and entertain with the food, especially the delicious crispy duck, which they prepared traditionally. The wine was chilled perfectly, the dry tang gifted me a pleasant glow and my heart and mind warmed to the conversation and company of my girl. We indulged in quite dozy lolling of the heads, propping up our lovelorn looks with hands and rested elbows, turning and twisting the rice spoons and enjoying every second of the evening's sweet conversation and anecdotes (well, actually I pointed out it'd been a year since I'd got rid of the ex and was kinda celebrating the massive turnaround it provoked in my life - like I stole back my soul from being lost forever in the jowls of destruction).
After finishing up we hit the tube and bouyant from wine began the floating trip back home. Time for me to make an idiot of myself then.
I felt intense on the tube, I felt like I had to get a few things out in the open, a few words to sum up the happiness I felt. I was leaning forward, hands to chin then hands thust forward with all my points. Sharp breaths and
particular emphasis. Pauses, drama and attempts at meaningful words. Words to melt a beautiful heart, to have it run amongst my loving fingers, sccoped up and kissed and adored and cherished. I turned to face her at the punctuation of airing my final thought. I looked at her face, her cheeks reddened either side her sweet nose, her brow blessed with gentle strands of flowing hair, the curl of her smile creeping up her profile. And so it crept, her teeth bared a little, her lips a-quivver. I chanced there might be a welling, some chord struck within her resonating and teasing her tears from out her eyes. Her throat murmurmed. Was it choked? Her brow furrowed. Had I said too much? Were her feelings to fight out of her heart and make known her blissful happiness?
Well... not quite.
Her mouth did continue to quivver. Her brow was furrowed still further. Her teeth did escape her sealed lips and break into a smile. Her throat murmer became a giggle. Then a laugh. Then silence as the quivver became a shake and her eyes wrung out a tear of amusement. She was laughing at me.
Apparently plum sauce is a terrible hair gel.
