Well, the weekend = good, but every so slightly bizarre.
Saturday started out in in the usual way: with a chef throwing bits of egg at me and expecting me to catch them in my mouth. I really wish I was joking about this, but nope, I was a performing seal for the night, folks. My life’s ambition has been realised!
You see, when we were in Florida last year, Terry and I went to a teppanyaki restaurant with my parents. It was great, and there was no catching of eggs in mouths AT ALL, which I find is usually a good sign when choosing where to eat of an evening, so when we discovered that a similar restaurant had opened in Edinburgh, naturally we decided to go along, and to take four of our friends with us. What we DIDN’T realise, of course, was that two of those friends would be forced to don chef’s hats and spend part of their evening throwing uncooked eggs into the air and attempting to catch them ON THEIR HEADS, but hey, we’re sure those friends will start speaking to us again soon.
And it could have been worse. It could have been ME who was forced to try and catch the eggs on my head, and as these were RAW eggs, that could’ve been messy. Like, really messy. Messier than the mess I actually made, when the chef went round the table and threw bits of cooked egg at us all, expecting us to catch them IN OUR MOUTHS.
Terry went first with this and, having spent a good chunk of his childhood practicing for just such an eventuality (And to think some people said that time was wasted!), managed to catch the piece of egg in his mouth first time. I really hope no one’s eating while they’re reading this, by the way. Especially not egg.
Then it was my turn.
Now, I should preface this story with the fact that I cannot catch at all. AT ALL. Not even with my hands. I spent a large part of my childhood pretending to have forgotten my gym kit, so that I wouldn’t have to do sports at school, and when they DID force me to play basketball, I managed to perfect the fine art of running round the court looking like I was doing something, but actually keeping as far away from the ball as was humanly possible. Seriously, I was a MASTER at it. (Interestingly, you’d think this would make me really good at dodgeball, but nope, if I try to play dodgeball I will get hit every time. Every. Time.)
So, what I’m basically trying to say here is that I can’t catch. Or, indeed, throw. I was that kid that was always picked last for all the teams. If you try and throw something to me, nine times out of ten, I will totally miss it. The other time, I will be so surprised to have caught the thing, that I will instantly drop it in shock, often emitting a stupid, girlie squeak as I do it. So no, the "catching eggs in my mouth" thing was never going to work out. Nevertheless, I gave it a shot and managed to bat the first egg sideways with my head, sending it all over our friend Gillian’s coat. Sorry about that, Gillian, if you’re reading this.
The second egg burst spectacularly on my left eyeball, in a scene which still makes Terry laugh even now when he remembers it. Luckily for me, the egg was cooked. Unluckily for Gillian, the third one I tried to catch hit me square in the middle of the forehead, and only just missed falling into her open handbag. (A word to the wise: never sit next to Amber at dinner.)
After that, the chef gave up on trying to turn me into an egg-catching sensation, and moved onto his other victims, all of whom managed to acquit themselves much better than I did.
That was just the start of the night, though.
After dinner, we went for drinks, and then at some point during the drinks, Ewen and Gillian announced that they had been invited to a birthday party later that night, and were willing to risk social embarrassment by taking Terry and I along with them. And we were really glad they did, because as we pulled into the street where the party was being held, there was a HIGHLAND COW standing in the middle of it. A highland cow.
A Highland Cow, yesterday
(Note: our cow didn’t have the massive scary horns. It was a lady cow.)
And do you know,that highland cow trotted before our car up the hill, leading the way (almost) to the party we were headed to, and making me wonder what the HELL was in that egg I had eaten that was making me hallucinate being guided through the night by a COW. Then the cow turned into a nearby field and trotted off, presumably to go and tuck itself into its Highland Cow Home, wherever that may be. I sometimes still think of it now.
So, that was our Saturday, cows, eggs and all. How was your weekend?