OUT TO LUNCH
Way back in 1984 I took a three-month sabbatical between jobs and used the time to tour Europe. In those dark and undemocratic days, despite the threat of international sanctions, the rand was pretty resilient and you could do that sort of thing. In fact, on one trip to the USA I came back to re-cash my remaining travellers’ cheques at a better exchange rate than I had originally dealt. Tell that to anybody under the age of 50 and they’ll think you’ve lost your marbles.
My girlfriend at the time wasn’t so lucky because she had a proper job, so she took three week’s leave and the intention was to meet at Heathrow, spend a couple of days with my family in the UK and then push off to France and Germany. I only found out later that the girlfriend had so little faith in my promise to meet the incoming flight from South Africa that she had prudently made alternate plans in case I failed to show up.
However, I was a man of honour and was there with a piece of cardboard with her name on it at Heathrow (I think it was terminal 3 back then).
I had already spent a couple of weeks in Greece where I stayed in Athens in a really crappy hotel room over-looking a noisy parking lot and the only thing that got me through the experience were bottles of Metaxa 5 Star brandy ( I use this word brandy advisedly on the advice of my legal team). I then flew on a very dubious aircraft to the island of Mykonos. Being protected from such things I had no idea at the time that Mykonos was a popular destination for gay males. But it was a scenic location, the weather was great, the wine was so-so and fortunately I happened to meet the only two heterosexual females on the island in the only bar on the harbour that played classical music.
Then it was back to London and the second leg of the trip. I met said girlfriend at the airport much to her surprise and after a few days in rural Suffolk we departed for Paris en route to Nice. Now for some reason I decided I should propose marriage. So I lured the girlfriend to the Eiffel Tour with the promise of a great restaurant booking and on the Deuxieme Etage, on a gloriously sunny day in June and with a stunning view of Paris and a gourmet lunch awaiting, I proposed. Only to be turned down. Now you know why I am damaged goods dear reader. The girlfriend mumbled something about having just come out of a bad marriage and not being ready for a new husband and I, somewhat gobsmacked, accepted that. After that lunch was a little low key I must admit.