Service: * * *
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Food: * * * 1\/2
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Ambience: * * 1\/2
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Babe Count: * *<\/i><\/p>\n
Ah! The taste of victory! I’ve just thrashed Jonathan 21–14 in my first game in the new cycle of our backgammon club. I’ve made the cut into the B-division, and life smells like organically grown roses. And my beard smells like chicken breasts with peppadew and sweet-onion topping, served with Greek salad. Which just happens to be the dish on special tonight here in Killarney.<\/p>\n
It’s definitely a recommendable light supper. For only R22, this is enough to fill the gap caused by a long Monday at work, and it’s tasty enough to be called a victor’s meal. <\/p>\n
“Roy,” says Matt, looking up from the pounding he’s giving Doc Pete. “How’s your relationship with Jacqui progressing?” He throws his dice, shrieks a fist-pumper, slaps Doc Pete’s lone blot onto the bar, and says, non-sotto-voce: “Please please please… give us the sordid details. All of them!”<\/p>\n
Well, it’s gotten to the stage where Jacqui and I are trying to work out pet names for each other. <\/p>\n
I’ve rejected ‘Boy Roy’, which is what I was called by Stan Katz back in the days I was the sound controller on his afternoon show on 702. I’ve rejected ‘Royco’, cos I don’t really want to be associated with a brand of instant soup, even though it’s hot and steamy and likes being stirred vigorously, whereupon it foams lightly. And I’m uncomfortable with ‘Enormous Boy’, cos it’s untrue. Mostly.<\/p>\n
Jacqui has rejected ‘Lust Bucket’. I don’t really know why. ‘Honey Bunny’ is just too mundane for both of us. I don’t really feel that calling her ‘Jax’ is appropriate, cos all of her friends call her that, and it seems to me to be too reminiscent of an incident involving a headmaster and a cane when I was in primary school. (I don’t know what they called the administration of corporal punishment in your school, but in mine it was called ‘Jacks’.) She’s given a provisional ‘yes’ to ‘Jacquilicious’, but only in private.<\/p>\n
“Excuse me,” I say to the Wiesenhof waiter in the privacy of Jacqui being in a different part of the world from me, a waiter who I haven’t seen for forty-minutes. “I seem to have drooled all over my beard. I’ve been talking about my girlfriend and she’s so Jacquilicious I can’t control myself.”<\/p>\n
He doesn’t seem to know what the hell I’m talking about. Which just proves that Jacquilicious could be obscure enough to be uttered in public. <\/p>\n
“Please can I have a serviette?” I ask the waiter.<\/p>\n
“Ah,” he says, handing me one. “Are you Boy Roy from the Four-to-Six-Afternoon-Fix with Stan Katz in 1989?” <\/p>\n