You know that sinking feeling you get when something goes wrong? Well believe me the opposite is just as bad.
There I was at 7am watching in horror as the toilet overflowed.
Two bath mats, one towel and half a roll of kitchen towel later I’d dried and cleaned the floor, worked out how to turn on the washing machine, left a warning note for my host Jason (so much for a Greek hero) and fled to the supermarket to stock up for Saturday’s train trip. So organised.
Luckily I remembered toilet situation on walk home through the College of Charleston campus (founded 1770, reminds me of Harvard but with a zillionth of the cost and GPA).
Walked into nearest cafe and boy did I luck out. Tall, dark and handsome long-aproned waiters looking like Greek gods (hopefully more handy than Jason), beautiful old wood paneling, beautiful young people and stylish organic grapefruit soap in bathroom.
Told pleased waiter it was best cafe in Charleston. Alas didn’t score free coffee. Or date with said waiter.
This is a toilet that flushes.
On the subject of food (what else?!), last night’s dinner took the biscuit.
Wandered down to marina at sunset and splashed out on:
- Crab cakes. Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Since I first ate them one New Year’s Day in North Carolina with Laura and Kevin I’ve hankered after them. Even bought Old Bay to try to recreate. Failed. Kept trying even after Old Bay was 3 years past its use-by date.
- Grilled asparagus. Something green!! Kermit would pleased.
- Red rice.
- More red. As in house red. $5 glass.
- And then, because old boy (not Old Bay) at next table had them, a bowl of fried onion rings the size of lifebuoys.
In hindsight should have ordered ladylike grilled chicken salad and Pinot Gris because as I was walking home one of my neighbours called out “Evening sir. Happy Thanksgiving.”
Poor guy was mortified when I replied “Thank you, same to you” in my singsong feminine voice.
“M’am???? Oh m’am, I’m terribly sorry.”
Wonder how much wigs cost.
Poor Mr Emmett. Forever associated with bags of shit.
Wonder what the butcher’s and candlestick maker’s places were like
Low-income housing in Charleston. Unsurprisingly the only kids I saw playing outside after school were African American. You could rule a line down the white-black divide in the south.
That’s so nice that people say Sir and Ma’am to each other. Good ol’ American courtesy.
The children who play outside will be more balanced in the long run…
There are some blessings that come from not having ‘everything.’