Everybody knows that when you travel you have to be at least tangentially aware of local customs and traditions.
We just had a walk on a secluded cliff edge path. It was a bit drizzly but a really nice walk just the same. Topping off the day, we decided to stop in a little harbor town called Porthleven to see the beach, visit some shops and watch the tide come in.
After getting a bit shopped out the sun made a brief guest appearance.
There was a nice pub portside. I thought it would be great to grab a pint and some chips because I really love chips. Okay, I really like beer too. What's not to like about chips and beer except the calories and the starch and the grease and the ... Okay - I did it cause I like 'em.
Having ordered my chips (fries), a beer, and a ginger beer for you know who, we sauntered, as you do on any great day, out to the patio area next to all the fishing boats in the harbor.
We waited patiently for the fries to arrive. When they were delivered there was a plate and chips but where was the stuff you put on the chips. There has to be stuff to put on the chips.
By the time my brain caught up with my mouth, the server had disappeared into what seemed to be thin air.
The accompaniments were all inside. So I got up to go inside to get salt, vinegar, and perhaps some mayo.
As soon as I turned my back to the chips the Devil's horde descended from the heavens in their multitudes (okay there were three) digging their nasty little beaks into MY chips.
Andrea deftly scooped up the dish with the fries and swooped them under the table. Several people shooed the vermin from the table which enabled me to go forth and continue my condiment quest.
When I came back to the table, I gathered the plate within my protective space, hunched around it, and growled at any seagull that would dare encroach on my chow-space. I was even offered a loan of a very cute little black cocker spaniel to help guard my chips (I thought that little pooch was a bit too eager so I decided to pass).
The point here is I didn't think twice. Even though their horrible little H1N1, Avian Flu carrying, tick-infested nasty carrion-eating winged critters had their muzzles full-in on my vittles, I had no problem scoffing the rest of them down. I didn't think twice.
You see when the zombie apocalypse comes it will be some poor idiot like me that will be patient zero. He'll be the idiot that the monkey bit or who ate his fries after some pox infected feathered freeloader lunged face first into it.
Yeah, it's just somebody like me who thinks they're a hardy person cause they ate quite a bit of dirt when they were a kid. It will be somebody who thinks that not much of any kind of disease can affect them.
Yup, I'm not much worried about the zombie apocalypse. I'll probably succumb to something more mundane. I'll probably be taken by something like Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Gull Fever and squawk my way to the grave.
Maybe I'll have to pay more attention and start being a bit more cautious. Maybe I should be a bit more respectful of those creatures who could inadvertently do me harm.
Whether or not I survive till next week, I wish you peace.
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