A friend from distant lands is briefly back in the country. I collect him from the local train station, and he explains that rather than bringing me what I’d asked him to pick up, he’s brought me half a breakfast burrito. I remember why I like him so much.
We sit in my garden and talk about life, while the baby eats mud and chuckles. When we’ve finished our coffees and the burrito, he says, Right, where shall we go for lunch? Pick somewhere you’ve always wanted to go to, but haven’t yet – my treat.
I think, This is the way to live.
We drive into the countryside to a pub, and he tells me about his French neighbour who got a woman pregnant and said, I want nothing to do with it, I will not see this baby, I will go back to France. The woman says, Cool story bro, it’s twins.
My friend says that really it’s his neighbour’s fault, since he’s actually one of triplets. We’re somehow both laughing so hard I nearly drive us off the road.
We eat everything at the pub: devils on horseback, olives as big as my thumb, little chorizo sausages as small as my thumb, herbed cod, rack of lamb, bakewell tarts, and under the warm sun and clear sky I even have a tiny glass of wine. The baby falls asleep after a mouthful of ginger ale. My friend and I make plans to write a film together.
I love Thursdays.