bignoseduglyguy

Oat Takers

Ugh. Despite being morally and ethically opposed to any physical exertion on Sunday (beyond bashing a keyboard and lifting a coffee cup), I was up early this morning along with Sprogs 1, 2 and 4 to take SWMBO and Sprog 3 to Paddington to catch an early train to Worcester. A couple of times a year SWMBO takes a long weekend to unwind, so she can have time away from the Sprogs and try and forget that she's married to me. This time SWMBO is taking Sprog 3 as they are visiting her godmother, who is the very cool Reverend Who Wouldn't Do Church if She Wasn't One. After a tearful parting (sadness on the kid's behalf, utter joy on SWMBO's) and forgetting it was Sunday, I steered a course for Portobello Road Market as I wanted to visit De La Fuente's (see archive here) to stock up on morcilla, chorizo and pancetta. Finding it shut, we deciding to cut our losses and headed for our regular Sunday morning hangout, Greenwich Market instead. Upon asking the kids where they wanted to eat breakfast for a treat, there was much debate followed by a pronouncement.
"Oat Takers" said Sprog 1 with certainty.
"What?" said a puzzled me.
"OAT TAKERS!" said Sprog 1 emphatically.
"Where?" I couldn't for the life of me grasp what she was on about...until it slowly but surely dawned on me that she meant Ottakers the booksellers, which has a cafe inside. After almost crashing the 806 through laughing too hard, we parked up and ended up in The Meeting House cafe instead, where we had a 'We're not missing Mummy - yet' breakfast. Afterwards, we wandered around and then into Essential Music which is in the covered market. Whilst the three Sprogs grooved to the ambient electronic trance groove playing on the shop's system, I snapped up Dido's No Angel, Brand New Heavies' Trunk Funk and a slice of dimly-remembered youth thinly disguised as the recent import compilation, New Order International. With a quick stop to pick up a rotisserie chicken, fresh corn on the cob and a rental DVD, we're now back home and ready for a white trash afternoon of arses welded to the couch and chicken fat on our chins.