Saturday, Blessed Saturday

Saturday, Blessed Saturday!

This was Saturday. Technically a day off. Or, at least a day with no activities planned.

I would have to recommend scheduling a few 'empty' days when dealing with momsters. They do need a break. As do I. But I didn't get one.

We made a plan. 
Get up.
Eat breakfast at the hotel.
Go visit the ol' Alma Mater.
Return.

 
Sure, why not?

We, well I, crawl out of bed. Freezing - because the air has to be on, of course, and still exhausted from the wheezing in the next bed.  Shower and get dressed. We had purchased breakfast tickets upon check in so we clumped our way down to the restaurant.

 Not being as well versed as I in hotel brekkies, but knowing the meaning of  'all you can eat', Mom got in and headed for the bacon and pancakes.

Now here was something I'd never seen. I can't explain it, but for some reason, I found the idea repulsive.

                           MAKE YOUR OWN PANCAKE MACHINE.

 She Who Must, however, had no issues at all with this device and happily dumped in the goo and cooked her own stuff. Kudos to you!

Knowing what we were to do that day, and since old habits die hard, I created a nice protein breakfast with the idea of providing a lunch for myself later.

Eggs, streaky bacon, weird potato thing and mushrooms.
Add to that a plate of beans, British bacon and grilled tomatoes.

 The dream: Eat some egg whites and sausage with the beans and mushrooms, potatoes and tomatoes, then make a nice lunch with the bacons and maybe another egg white.

The reality: "That's disGUStin'. Don't do that. Eat that here and we'll get something later." 

So, once again, eating out of guilt and trying to get my money's worth of the breakfast ticket, I stuffed down enough food to feed a small starving tribe. I felt my tights and jeans pulling at the seams.

After a very painful breakfast, we got a bunch of crap for the road and took a black taxi to King's Cross station.
Yep, that King's Cross.

We picked up 2 tickets to Hatfield, about an hour or so north of London. 

We didn't have much time to wander about the station, so we got on the train (the CORRECT one this time), claimed our seats and a few minutes later, were on our way. (How's that for a run-on sentence?)

With a full belly and rocking train car, I dozed off. Mom was reading her tablet. I did take a picture inside the train.

After a nice nap, the train pulls into Hatfield. A cute little town filled with regular people doing regular stuff. And a bunch of international students from the Uni.

We get off the train, walk the platform, take the lift down and out into the street where we catch a taxi to the University.

Good Ole 'Uh...' a.k.a 'DUHmb Ass U'. I really shouldn't say that.
After all, they did grant me a Doctorate, God bless them.

So, here it is, a Saturday, during winter break, walking around a mostly dead university.

At some point we had this:

I have no idea what it is, and for the life of me I can't remember consuming it. Talk about making a good impression!

Eventually, we wandered around the circular campus finding our way to the Student  Center shop.

As a present, Moms bought me a really thick zip up sweater with the universal University symbol on it.
 

Since it's regularly -3 degrees in most office buildings I visit, I tend to wear this nearly every day. 

Momster got herself a pull over sweatshirt with a similar logo I believe.

In the cooler of the little store, I found this concoction.

 It looked delicious and disgusting all at once, so I had to have it.  I was right, too. It was delicious and disgusting all at once. Plus alcohol. I've found that having some of that around (and by 'around' I mean being metabolized),  tends to soothe the matricidal tendencies. A little. Sometimes. On a good day.

There really isn't anything to do at a shut down university in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, so instead of taking the bus back to the station like I did when I was alone, we called the same taxi guy and had him pick us up and bring us back to the station.

Needless to say, after we got back, I find this article on the interwebs:Is Hatfield Haunted?

Well what the crap? NOW they tell me? Guess I'll have to look into going back.

Anyway... train ride back, fell asleep, eating cookies, blah, blah, blah. Get to station, get a cab to the hotel, nap time.

Ahhh... Nap time! My favorite. 

A little while later, we awoke in time for dinner. 
'Why don't we try something new?' I asked, fingers crossed.
'Okay. What?'
'Remember you promised to try Indian?'
'Okay.'

WHAT???? WHAT???? She AGREED???? Holy crap turds, Batman!

Before she had a chance to change her mind, I bundled her up in her jacket and led her into the lobby and out into the street, the three block walk to the Indian place.

Still with fingers crossed, I placed an order. 
 
                        
Papadams with the various salsas and Chicken Tikka Masala with a side order of Naan. Pretty much the standard 'white people safe' food of Indian cuisine. Much like 'chow mein' and 'fried rice' is to Chinese.

"Oooh, this is good!" erupted from She Who.

Alien Spore

"What?" Not because I didn't hear correctly, but because  upon hearing positive feedback from the organism beside me, I was certain that whilst in Hatfield, an alien spore lodged itself within my mother's person and had taken over her faculties. Or maybe it happened when I fell asleep on the train.


To give credit where due, the dinner was delicious. And who knew? Miracles can happen. Momster found something new to eat. 

After dinner, the cashier guy fixed my mom's watch. I thought that was nice.

We waddled our way back to the hotel, went upstairs, made some calls via Skype, and called it a day.

In the realm of not bad days, I'd say this was pretty high up on the list.