I have to admit that we returned for the second time to a small Thai restaurant about five minutes from where we’re staying in Auckland, and brought the meal back to our room.
It was a simple meal. Papaya salad, chicken larb (sometimes laab), and a noodle dish with chicken and vegetables. A touch of red wine. And a slight step up the hotness scale worked out well.
I think our preference for takeout meals started when reasonable wine in restaurants started costing $50 or more for a bottle that you would buy for under $15. Too much of a premium for us cheapies!
In any case, it was time for a toast!
The news from home is good. Toby is being a good patient, and is eating well as long as he gets his meds. Romeo wants to be a lap cat, Annie is being a princess, and Duke started sneezing. Our cat sitter deserves a medal for dealing with all of that!
Today (Monday in Auckland) Meda stared her more substantive lectures, with something scheduled each day through Friday. And on Saturday we fly home.
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I had one delicious slice of toast this morning at the backpacker hostel Palmer House – Hillspring on Willesden Lane in NW London, gaving manually grained into the raspberry jelly with my free finger as I was running the hostel’s coffee machine with my left. That was it, Ian. I watched 15 seconds of the BBC (no Boris Johnson challenge for now) and did a second cuppa.
President Obama passed a physical lately with flying colours except the doc warned him about “acid reflux”, or dashing to bed in the White House with a full Thai meal mere seconds after consuming it – so I don’t do that.
After congenially eating the one piece of lightly buttered wheat toast in Willesden I proceeded through London traffic to do my every-other-day ten laps at the excruciating drown-furnace of a 50-mtre pool at the Crystal Palace National Sports Centre olympic pool. (Punishment for all that one toasty toast?)
Then I caught a #410 TfL (Transport for London) red bus to Croydon, starving, and hopped on the #405 to Redhill, here in Surrey, theatre of threatening grisly clouds, and proceeded thence on foot for 6 miles through Surrey, some if it in forest, to my present location at Gatwick International Airport – South Terminal.
Beware the goodness of New Zealand – the Woolworths brand stores there oooare a dynamite source of yummy groceries to bring back to anyone’s hotel.
Woolworths is very much alive in New Zealand.