When I was at school, a sandwich shop opened by the roundabout that offered a whole cabinet full of fillings. It was quite innovative for the eighties. Every day I’d pick up my banana and corned beef sandwich to eat with my friends on the park bench next to the school – from where we’d forget to go back for afternoon lessons. This is on the days I went to school of course, those being art and social science days, as opposed to maths and PE which I generally skipped. Don’t remember an awful lot about what we learned (except cumulus and cumulo nimbus clouds, and Latin verb formations) – but I remember the weird sandwiches…. What does that mean?
Working at Principles, my days were so busy buying jewellery and lingerie that there was barely time to eat lunch. Someone would do a sandwich run and we’d sit at our desks shovelling in the food. I think the café there was called Harry Masons – not exactly sure now but it was definitely Harry Something. I had a chicken and stuffing sandwich every day, unless being wined and dined by suppliers. In Venice the sandwiches were memorable because they looked like their fillings had been ice-cream-scooped into the bread.
I’m mentioning this because I don’t eat sandwiches now. The bread no longer likes me and I’m quite strict. Giving a presentation on social media recently on the 23rd floor of the Shard, the lunch provided was a superb mix of…. Sandwiches. Various breads, buns and wraps adorned the table, but I settled for a plate of black grapes and a mint tea. It wasn’t my best business lunch. So in years to come I’ll remember little of the presentation and who was there, but my strangely selective memory will recall the mix of sandwiches laid out before me. (I’m writing this late at night again… can you tell?)
Had dinner in a lovely little Moroccan restaurant recently with my friend Mark who runs a business hub in Southend. I’ve run social media training courses for him in the past, when he was based closer to London. Then he took me to a tiny bar, the size of someone’s front room, where the D’Ukes entertained us with their ukuleles!! European headliners at the ukulele festival, they were actually fantastic! Playing an eclectic set that encompassed Amy Winehouse, the Pretenders, Neil Diamond and – erm, Hava Nagila, we clapped and joined in the choruses of everything from the 60s to Stereophonics.
Mark mentioned that the group were all probably someone’s grandads, and we laughed about that because it seemed funny that grandpas would be doing a gig. I say this while listening to Fleetwood mac on the iPad and having spent last night chatting about the Rolling Stones exhibition.
Work this week is a funny mix of meetings and blogging, with plenty of time for lunch. So if you’re in Zone 1 and fancy a sandwich (without bread!) and a chat about social media, give me a shout. (When I read back to edit this, I noticed I’d written ‘give me a shot’ – that also would be nice – Baileys, preferably!)
Let’s try this… Hava neranenah, hava neranenah, hava neranenah ve-nismeḥa! (Let’s sing, let’s sing, let’s sing and be happy!) And why not? I’m off now to find my pink ukelele – I think it’s in the attic…. time to start learning to play? Enjoy your lunch – and your week!! @WeekendWitch.
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