Occasionally, though, I get an offer I cannot refuse. Yesterday, for example, I was invited with my entire family to dine at a restaurant about 45 minutes out of Sydney. What made this offer even more appealing was that we were to be transported there by Hummer. And although I have my own car, a fancy shmancy super long car with disco lights and a mini-bar just blew that right out of the water.
So of course I said yes. Which the PR company may very well be deeply regretting.
The Architect, three kids and I drove to the city, where we were to meet The Hummer. The Architect dropped us off and parked the car, and we were ushered into the vehicle. Five adults were already inside - a PR rep and his friend, a Mind Food reviewer, and another food reviewer and her bestie.
"Hello!" I waved to all breezily, as I slid onto the padded couch and right off the end onto my bum. Yes, being a newbie to The Hummer, I had miscalculated the length of the couch and had fallen onto my arse in front of five complete strangers.
|Yup. On my arse.|
The Architect arrived and we drove off. The kids drank water from the mini-bar and I got stuck into the champagne, which helped ease the mortification of my fall. That is, until I put my glass down into one of the car's glass-holders, there was a slight lurch, and it tipped over, all over the mini bar, all over the floor, and all over my kids.
"Sorry!" I called out to the five adults. "Won't happen again!"
Two minutes later, the four year old's drink did exactly the same thing, only this time a little bit splashed onto the pants of one of the adults.
"Sorry," I said again, less certainly this time. I drank some more champagne.
At the restaurant, 42 Bannerman in Glenhaven, we were seated away from our Hummer companions, for which I was profoundly grateful. A chance to start afresh. Be reborn, if you will. Make an excellent impression on a completely new group of potential friends.
We ate the delicious bread and incredible olives, exquisite quail and tuna, and then the first entree of pasta arrived.
"Spunky!" my daughter exclaimed loudly. Our table companions looked up.
Because yes, the pasta was indeed a ragout of rabbit. Presumably not our rabbit, as he had been eaten by a fox, but someone's else's rabbit.
"I can't eat Spunky!" she cried in horror.
"Can't you just pretend it's chicken?" asked our host.
The pasta, however, smelled delectable. Now, I haven't ever eaten
It was heaven.
Shortly afterwards an opera singer began a performance, filmed by a photographer. At this point, my four year old decided that it was time to run in and out of the restaurant repeatedly, and what better place to run than between the singer and the camera filming him. It was mortifying. I do, however, look forward to seeing the footage of the event, as an magnificant tenor performs solemnly in Italian, while a little girl in a pink tutu and Dora tee shirt races around him.
Sadly, my children lost the plot before the final course was served, and demanded that The Hummer take them home right now. Our delightful host, who was sitting right opposite us, pretended not to mind that we were bailing before the end of the party. I, on the other hand, didn't bother pretending not to mind, because I wanted my main course and I did not want to go home. Unfortunately, in this instance, the children won, not because I was bending to their will, but because they were loud, and I was preserving what little dignity and reputation I had left.
We did, however, manage to grab three huge bowls of vanilla bean and nutella gelato before we left. Because there was no way I was going home without that.
So we got back in The Hummer and were deposited back in the city, tired and a little tipsy* and still wondering what main course we had missed out on.
And then The Architect forgot where he had parked the car. But that, my friends, is another story.
*that would be me