I shouldn't be let out in public

There's  an Indian restaurant that we frequent locally to the dismay of the staff and owners.  For some bizarre reason I cannot say I have bestowed upon them the best me, ever.  Unfortunately they remember.  I wonder why?

The first meal was on their opening night. The dining room was empty so I decided it would be friendly and most welcome by them if I did a facebook checkin to put them on the map.  After spending 20 minutes playing with my phone at the table trying to get signal I was forced to leave the building and cross the street in order to get a bar.  So much for good intentions and favours.  The food arrived and sat there getting cold whilst I received stares of frigidity from the staff through their now glacial window.  The longer I loitered  at the bar across the street the more the temperature dropped in the restaurant.  When I returned, absent of facebook checkin, my chilli chicken had a frosted topping and icicles garnish.  Mr Him breathed fire and steam at me and luckily some of the vapour headed my plate's way. My chilli chicken was hot, very hot. Now I like a korma madras but the vapour from Mr Him took this meal to another level in heat. Ironic when you consider the icy stares from staff that I was still receiving.

A few months later we planned on taking friends who were visiting us from up North. We were to spend the day in Brighton then go home and become elegant peoples in casual finery for a meal.

As it turned out we had such a splendid day frequenting gin bars and photobombing tourists we didn't care about brushing the salt and sand from our crusty hair let alone changing into casual finery. We descended on the restaurant with the seaside spilling from our flipflops. Still, we had a lovely meal.

The third time we had been for a few drinks and I had  succumbed to a phethora couple of jaegerbombs.  Mr Him and I had only gone out for a quick drink with friends, just one we had said.  We were not expecting an evening out and had not dressed for it.  That, I have to say, was the least of my worries. Mr Him and our friends on that occasion had succumbed more than me to the various drinking establishments visited that night. I at least recollect arriving in this
favoured restaurant and having a meal. The others had no memory of it.  

Then a few months later a female friend and I did manage to dress in casual finery and bling and were allowed in to this fine curry establishment once again. With nudges from one waiter to another and nods to me with associated whispers of 'facebook' we were led to a dark corner in the rear next to the gents restroom.  We imbibed one bottle of wine  between us, we talked and were elegant in behaviour and attire.  In fact my behavior was impeccable and I almost survived the outing without mishap.  Just as I had ordered my liquor coffee a gentleman, heading I had assumed for the restroom, sat on my chair, on top of me! Was I so tucked in to the corner in the dark that he had thought I was the restroom?  It turned out not, for he started to talk.  Either he  usually talked to the restroom facilities or he knew I was there.  As it materialised he was chatting me up, so he told me.  Unusual technique and I can't say it was successful.

Why am I relating all of these so last year outings?  We went again last night, and last night they had their revenge. Once again planned outfits of casual finery and civilised eating hour of eight o'clock were abandoned.  Mr Him and I took his mother to the restaurant and having just spent 4 hours in A&E with youngest we arrived at ten o'clock wearing jumpers and the scent  of antiseptic. Before the food arrived I found my nose blocking, I started gasping for air, my mouth goldfished inelegantly.  I needed to get out.  I ran out and across the street to breathe, breathe, need air.  Once oxygenated I returned to the table only to find the same thing happened.  As soon as I was at the table I could not breathe.  I had been fine in the hospital, fine all day, fine outside but not at the table. I left the restaurant with a full blown cold.  My association with this restaurant has gone viral.

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