Last night was our first night out since the start of lambing time. Himself and I wandered late through the drizzling streets of Lancaster, marvelling at the drunken meanderings of scantily clad hen-nighters, and window shopping like country folk in the big city. Which we kinda are. I always have to put an extra layer of persona round myself when I visit a city. Some kind of protection.
Himself had said that he wanted to go somewhere that wasn’t home, so that he could be glad for home when we got back. Lambing time wears on you after a few weeks.
Lancaster it was, because it was 8:10 pm when we left. Way too late to be traipsing to Blackpool, although that town is usually the answer when he wants to remember why he loves his life as it is.
What a fun, simple night it was.
Saw a band in a pub called The Robert Gillow – the pub is up on its music nights, with live music on a Saturday and a live ‘piano lounge’ night on a Friday.
The atmosphere was happy, the music was rock, the Guinness was apparently good (the red wine was lovely), and the night was completed by a Thai meal (the name of the restaurant totally eludes me and there’s no sign of it on Google Streetview, only a steak house in the same location on China Street).
The prawn toast was divine (although I suspect it was frozen until 5 minutes before) and the prawn crackers … why do they have so much more flavour than Chinese ones? I definitely preferred Himself’s Pad Thai to my hot type (Pad something Keow), but he left no opportunity for me to steal any. A Coke for him, jasmine tea for me, nice, genuine girls running the restaurant. It was a nice meal and we were both full at the end.
Simple things, done slowly. Some of the best meals are like that.