Section 90 is having a pad Thai
Later that evening, the room was dark as they awoke. Twelve windswept miles in the Pentland hills had been fun, though not without more verbal sparring. Nsansa reached across brushing Paul with her hand in a vague sweeping motion.“We getting up? she mumbled. “Want to go out?”
Looking through the Edinburgh guide they found a number of possible restaurants. On their third attempt at making a reservation, they had to settle for a table at the Thai Orchid in Johnston Terrace. It was as if some kind of offshore current from the coast of Africa had deposited him on Scotland’s most cosmopolitan rock only to find that all there was to eat in exile were South East Asian delicacies.
“Let’s park near the Castle again” Vernon suggested, as they dressed for dinner, “We got away with it last night.” Unsure of their bearings, it was a relief when Nsansa glimpsed the restaurant by chance as they drove down the sweeping descent from the Royal Mile. Because it had begun to rain profusely she insisted on clambering out of the car so as to shelter in the restaurant. As with all their driving around the capital that weekend, they again got lost, and found their destination accidently precisely at their point of giving up. ‘Is this going to be a metaphor for our life together wondered Vernon?’ as he slammed the car door shut and ran after Nsansa back up the ancient rain polished flagstone street.”
He was greeted at the door by a pretty, manicured doll. “Sa was dee. Sa-bai-dee-mai. Ka? Good evening. How are you?” Her smile seemed so tantalisingly genuine. Thailand. Welcome to what you could have had Vernon.
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