The broken shoe birthday

26 Jul

 

Yesterday L2 was five, which seems impossible since he was born about three weeks ago, is still a babe in arms and doesn’t sleep through the night much.  I have obviously missed the last several years to surface in a fresh reality where only one of those three statements remains accurate.

 

On such an auspicious occasion as the fifth birthday tradition, of course, is to pop into Orpington for dinner.  Usually it’s Pizza Express, reliable quality, kids’ dough balls I can nick (as others’ food contains zero calories), dessert included, and lovely staff.  Yesterday however we decided for a break with tradition and a visit to Reku Zen, a fun Oriental buffet which charges children according to their height, which entertains me no end as they clearly haven’t factored in my offspring, who where buffet food is concerned – especially buffet food incorporating a dessert chocolate fountain course – subscribe to me ‘eat as much as you can’ buffet ethos, rather than the actual ‘eat as much as you like’.  Still, I’m sure they make enough cash to wear the odd anomaly to their height = quantity devoured ethos.

 

Anyway, birthday dinners necessitate great haste to Victoria to get home in time for food at a reasonable hour.  The stumbling block in my way yesterday was Park Lane, with its Olympic-official hosting hotel and omnipresent Zil lanes, the combination of which I feared could lead my bus to a state of delay and therefore late tea.  So I decided to walk.  I love walking from work to Victoria through Hyde Park anyway, and do it as much as possible, but it’s even more invigorating at the moment, with it’s Olympic branding and the booth at the Marble Arch end, one of my favourite things ever, with the legend ‘have a question?’ emblazoned on it.  Now I have so many I scarcely know where to start, so am compiling a list to take to them when I have a spare moment, which clearly wasn’t yesterday with such a specific train to catch.

 

So I set out at what I think could be termed ‘an Olympian pace’ (which I hope is allowed in this context under LOCOG usage guidelines), with only a niggling concern that my shoes may be less than fit for purpose.  But eager to catch the train I hastened on.  I was half way through Connaught Square – just passing Tony Blair’s armed guard – when the strap snapped.  My first thought (well, the one after ‘bugger’) was ‘what would an Olympian do?’.  The obvious answer was ‘not have a shoe on the verge of snapping in the first place’, which didn’t help.  So, basically, I soldiered on, shuffling; missed the train; but there’s a happy ending here – I managed to make a speedy connection at Bromley South, and the early tea was salvaged (and super).

 

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2 Responses to “The broken shoe birthday”

  1. whistlesandbellsne July 26, 2012 at 8:34 am #

    so did you make numerous returns to the chocolate fountain by way of compensation?

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