It’s becoming a bit of a theme, but I was awake and reading at 2:30 this morning, after a disturbed couple of hours’ sleep. I did doze off a bit, but was as near fully-functioning as I was likely to achieve by 5am. I can’t blame dhal this time, so if you know what evil I committed and have wiped from my conscious memory only to have it prod me awake in the small hours please let me know! I was always rather taken with the title of a mediaeval text called “Ayenbite of Inwyt” (“The repeated bites of the inner mind”, or something). I have to admit the title is about as much as I remember of the text: students are generally keener on the bit before remorse sets in…
It being Sunday, I decided to have lunch and went to a place called The Cannon in the Fort: I’d been there a few weeks back with Rick, Kris and a bunch of ex-pats. There must be a collective noun for ex-pats: a diaspora, an intrusion, a coterie? Do different nationalities of ex-pats merit their own term? Suggestions are welcome.
I was briefly tempted by the mixed grill, but reckoned it wouldn’t be much good and was over-priced at about £25. You don’t often see pork for sale here and again I dithered over it, but pork chops can be awful if done badly.
So, “Shark, please”
“Very sorry, sir we don’t have any shark today: it’s Sunday.”
“Very well, I’ll have the calamari”
“Very sorry, sir, we don’t have calamari today: it’s Sunday”
I ended up with prawns – not big ones – still in their shells with rice and a lime and ginger sauce. Peeling prawns by hand is a messy job at the best of times, but it’s not made easier with a lime and ginger sauce. Eventually a guy bought a finger-bowl and my request for more paper napkins was acceded to.
My attempt to have Coffee and Caramel something or other afterwards came to naught presumably because it was Sunday – and at that point I gave up. I can see why The Cannon is rated as No.122 of 209 places to eat in Galle by TripAdvisor. To be fair, the food I actually had wasn’t too bad, but that’ll be my last visit. Ever, probably.
Whilst I picked bits of exoskeleton off my prawns, the heavens opened and from the covered balcony I watched pools forming on the ground below. The lack of Coffee and Caramel something or other was thus a double blow. I started walking back to the bus station, but gave in and hailed a tuk-tuk for the half mile or so. In the 100 yards between dismounting from the bus and arriving chez moi, I got well and truly soaked. Boy was I glad I’d taken my washing in.
It was a shame about the rain, because the tuk-tuk driver pointed out that there was tuk-tuk polo on in town today, but it was too wet for me to stand around watching. On the other hand, if it hadn’t been raining, I’d never have known anyway… If you’ve not heard of tuk-tuk polo, Google it: it’s worth the effort.
I mentioned a Peter May book yesterday: it’s the first in a series featuring an Italian Scottish forensic detective chappie who lives in France. I was disappointed in it. I’d enjoyed the Lewis stories, but this is more like Dan Brown: unbelievable plot and not that well told. I don’t think I’ll be reading any more from the series. It started with a quotation from Dostoyevsky’s “Crime and Punishment”, so I’ve started on that.
The Rebus was good: the title “Rather be the Devil” is taken from a John Martyn track, so that prompted to me play some of his stuff on the bus yesterday.
I was supposed to have a French & English lesson this evening with Venushka, but he was keen to go to the Richmond College Carnival and Richmond Rhythms this evening, so I’m off the hook until tomorrow.