Brunch fail

But not in the way you may think.  You'd probably prefer to think that when I tell you a little story about the husband and his being a complete noddy and your imagination kicks in though.

But first - check these out!  Axi panels suspended from the ceiling at The Raumati Social Club!  That's a lot of cool.  The walls are painted in a gorgeous antique green which also makes me happy (and I'm not just gushing - my bedspread is that colour and has been for six or seven years.  I'd take photos for proof, but all my washing is currently turfed all over it, so maybe later).  I took other photos, trying not to look obvious while hanging backwards through a window, waving my camera in what turned out to be a few really stupid directions but I think I'll wait till it's done.  The panels were too brilliant not to celebrate though.

 

And happy locals!  It's a place of awesome vibe.

But, I'll have to fill you in on brunch next week.  Today, they were still a construction site (just, I think) and working their asses off.  It was almost a gift really, turning up with hopes of brunch, to find they were still going and I could just have a great coffee and an extended nosey from outside (and with about a third of me hanging in through the big window) because that meant I could be sure that I'd just have to go back again next week.  Sweet.  Happiness is.

That's  not the fail though.  Oh, no.  The fail was entirely the husband's doing.  You see, had the cafe been open and serving brunch or whatever, we would've been just having coffee anyway, despite all my plans and egg-related dreams of wonder and happiness, and making a literal dash for it because the husband is a dopey bugger.  You see, he loves his cooked breakfasts - usually eggs, toast, baked beans and bacon on weekends.  At least I think that's when the bacon comes out.  It's not really relevant, but it feels like something I should know the pattern of ... huh.  Never mind.  Anyway, a tin of beans does two breakfasts.  But, at some point, he ran out of beans and opened a tin of spaghetti instead, putting the remaining half tin in the fridge for later.  How much later, we have no idea.  Significantly though, I'd say.  This morning, he located said spaghetti in the fridge, and even though he had no recollection of when he last had spaghetti for breakfast he ate it anyway.  Because what could go wrong with spaghetti?

Loon.

So, you see, in a lot of ways, the cafe not being ready today actually saved the husband's life, because it wasn't until we were sitting at our table on the pavement outside that I realised he'd taken on a rather disturbing resemblance in colour to the walls behind us and if I'd gotten that far and had to forfeit my brunch, it is very likely I would've killed him.  (he's protesting loudly at this point that I could've still had my eggs and there was no imminent danger.  Hmm)

We won't go into why on earth he had a cooked breakfast when he thought we were going out for brunch (although, in his defence, the not-ginger kept us up till 3.30am, so perhaps he just needed the fuel).  (now he's muttering something about pancakes.  I wish he'd stop muttering and make me a hot chocolate)

So, my green other half has been spending a quiet day, and has learned a rather valuable lesson in not eating shiz that he finds in the fridge if he has no memory of when it landed there in the first place.  And tonight, he concedes that probably, one should be a bit guided by one's nose also.  (oh. woops.  Didn't turn the coffee machine on.  Hence the no hot chocolate.  Bollocks)

So, just to recap, the husband is an idiot.

As you were.