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remember, folks, saying "Thynne" cures you of monkeys on the knees
Friday, 15 July 2011 02:31 pmHospital food is truly terrible. Or, at least, food in this hospital is truly terrible. I have choked down about a quarter of what they give me, on average. Today's lunch was "sweet 'n sour" chicken, which tasted almost but not quite completely unlike sweet n'sour chicken. It was served on spaghetti. With a gem squash on the side. Honestly, it would be endearing, how hard they try for interesting food, if the results weren't so perfectly balanced between bland, stodge, glutinous and weird. Also, never order the fish. *shudder*
The hospital food thing seems unusually cruel in that I have been, over the last couple of weeks, subjected to a bewildering array of dreadful airline food and excellent Australian food in rapid succession. Gawsh, but the Aussies take their food seriously. Our delegation was wont to wander out fairly randomly and pick the first restaurant we saw, which netted us, in order, superlative Chinese, excellent Greek, superlative Spanish tapas, excellent Moroccan and superlative Indian. Even the arb hotel breakfasts had a create-your-own pancake option. On the other hand, Qantas does some cruel and unusual things to innocent beef, which is served in small, gelatinous cubes. I have culinary whiplash.
The hospital food is really not an issue, anyway, as I have approximately the appetite of a small bird at the moment. Other than that, clearly perceptibly cheered by the arrival of my mother in Cape Town, I am feeling much better - chest pains minimal, leg pain down to "ouch" rather than "aargh" levels when I try to stand. If I can refrain from throwing out any new, exciting symptoms when the nice doctor examines me tomorrow morning, I may be able to go home. The current definition of "home" is "that exciting mirage on the horizon which they keep showing you, then withdrawing, before poking you lots with sharp things." I fear it's official, and my knees actually hate me.
You seem to be getting the Australia trip inside-out, on the instalment plan. The tapas restaurant in Melbourne was in this fascinating little alley given entirely over to graffiti. It was one of the approximately 386 times this trip when I wished I was stv, to do it justice.
The hospital food thing seems unusually cruel in that I have been, over the last couple of weeks, subjected to a bewildering array of dreadful airline food and excellent Australian food in rapid succession. Gawsh, but the Aussies take their food seriously. Our delegation was wont to wander out fairly randomly and pick the first restaurant we saw, which netted us, in order, superlative Chinese, excellent Greek, superlative Spanish tapas, excellent Moroccan and superlative Indian. Even the arb hotel breakfasts had a create-your-own pancake option. On the other hand, Qantas does some cruel and unusual things to innocent beef, which is served in small, gelatinous cubes. I have culinary whiplash.
The hospital food is really not an issue, anyway, as I have approximately the appetite of a small bird at the moment. Other than that, clearly perceptibly cheered by the arrival of my mother in Cape Town, I am feeling much better - chest pains minimal, leg pain down to "ouch" rather than "aargh" levels when I try to stand. If I can refrain from throwing out any new, exciting symptoms when the nice doctor examines me tomorrow morning, I may be able to go home. The current definition of "home" is "that exciting mirage on the horizon which they keep showing you, then withdrawing, before poking you lots with sharp things." I fear it's official, and my knees actually hate me.
You seem to be getting the Australia trip inside-out, on the instalment plan. The tapas restaurant in Melbourne was in this fascinating little alley given entirely over to graffiti. It was one of the approximately 386 times this trip when I wished I was stv, to do it justice.
