June 27th, 8:30 a.m.
I came down to the empty Anchor dining room to sun flooding one table, so that’s where I sat.
• Anchor full English Breakfast egg, bacon, sausage, fried bread, tomato, mushrooms and baked beans.
• Lowestoft smoked haddock with poached egg
• Scrambled egg on homemade brown toast
• Local kippers
• Choice of fresh fruit, Suffolk pressed apple juice, organic orange juice, cereals and muesli
• Selection of teas and fresh ground coffee
• Anchor made white and brown toast. With homemade jams, honeys and marmalades
I chose Lowestoft smoked haddock with poached egg and added in fried tomatoes and mushrooms.
It was divine!
The Daily Telegraph handy, I picked up the morning copy to see what English newspaper writing was like while I ate. Here’s a sampling:
Professor Raphael Loewe, who died on May 27 aged 92, was an influential scholar of Jewish studies and a poet, as well as a translator of medieval Hebrew verse.
“The ghost of Ibn Gabirol over my shoulder as I wrote!” Professor Raphael Loewe said.
Twenty thousand pounds to train as teacher…The brightest students will be handed 20 thousand pounds to train as teachers under Government plans to improve state education standards.
Middle class families are being priced out of traveling by train.
Ahem…English priorities a little more civilized, perhaps?
In my aloneness, I looked about me. Six English children were huddled over a book smiling and communing excitedly over pictures of some sort. It was hard to see the book from my spot, but I enjoyed the chirpy POLITE TONES to their voices.
A little later, I went over to their table and asked, “What do you like about this book? What’s it called? They chimed in, “Top Gear, Where’s Stig?” Then one girl immediately took up the leadership. “It’s all about finding Stig. See here,” she said pointing to a cartoon page of funny looking robot-like people, thousands all busy doing something relating to current events. She looked very hard at all the faces and figures, but couldn’t find him. “One of the other children said, “He’s the one who’s different.” So we all looked like mad with no luck. So another kid said, “Turn to page 28. We know how to find him in that one!” So we all looked again. And there he was hiding behind other robots on a balcony…the little bugger!
I returned to my table. I suddenly or maybe not so suddenly felt quite old…more of an observer than a doer. But, I remember when we gadded about all day on our bicycles to Major Bug’s stables, to the village green, down to the ferry, across the marsh to Southwold and back to the beach where we jumped cement blocks, out to the old windmill. It was our village back then. Now it was everybody’s village. I sighed. The kids had put away Stig. Five of them were now eating sausages, but one was eating fish. They all had chips.