Kuidaore; to eat yourself into bankruptcy.
He didn’t know what else to do now and re-living his past allowed him to feel something again. He made bookings at any restaurant he could, though some he knew lied to him about being fully booked for months. They either remembered him from all those years ago when he had given them bad reviews or they had heard about his demise and thought him out of his mind.
Well, he was wasn’t he? The dementia that had taken his wife had decided it wanted him too. He was a better fighter then her but it was hard now he was on his own. Sometimes he thought about contacting his daughter again and making things right but the pain was too much. So instead, he looked up the newest places to eat and phoned them.
‘Byon’s, how can I help?’ asked the cheerful male voice.
‘Can I have a table for one for tomorrow around half past six?’ he said.
‘Yes, you can. What’s your name, please?’
‘Mr Higgson,’ he replied, trying to hold back a chuckle. Giving false names was his new way to get in.
‘That’s booked for you, thank you.’
Hanging up the phone, he jotted it down in his diary and looked up another place to phone for the next night.
‘Hello, The White Rabbit pub,’ said a tried woman’s voice.
‘I’d like to book a table for two, please,’ he said.
That was his other trick, to book extra seats and then say that person or them weren’t coming but he still wanted to eat.
‘For when?’ the woman asked.
‘Friday lunchtime, around half one.’ he answered.
‘Yes, we can fit you in. Name?’
‘I’ll book that in.’
‘Thanks,’ he said and hung up the phone.
He wrote that down under Friday then leaving the diary open on his desk, turned to his old PC. A document was open on the screen and he had been typing up his notes from yesterday’s meal.
The Toad At The Hall Inn is a most pleasant place though it would be even nicer if dogs and children were banned. My meal which I shall describe shortly, was constantly interrupted by loud barking and crying. Also, there is the constant arriving and departing of hikers, cyclists and drivers, making relaxing in this ‘cosy countryside’ place hard.
Looking at an open notebook, he re-read his scrambled notes then carried on typing. He worked on his review for another twenty minutes then he needed the bathroom. Getting up on cramped knees, he hobbled to the bathroom.
The phone rang whilst he was in there. He didn’t bother hurrying, the answer machine would get it and it was probably only a cold caller anyway. Gone were the days when, the editors, colleagues, friends and chiefs would phone him to suggested this or that place, to give praise about his latest review or remind him of a deadline.
Who was that ringing him?
He came out and picked up the phone. It stop ringing and there was a dial tone. They had hung up. With a shrug, he wondered what he had been doing. His thoughts had wandered, a bad thing to let happen. He looked around, hoping something would remind him, when nothing came in went into the living room and put the TV on.
There was a daytime cooking show on. It jogged his memory, I must phone those other restaurants and get some more money, he thought.
It was really only food, travel and bills he spend money on now. Well, what was left of it….He had gotten through most of his savings now but what else was he going to spend his money on? And what did the money matter, it was the food that counted! The food was the most important thing!
Speaking of, what was he doing right now? He glanced around, unsure then got up.
‘I should phone those other restaurants,’ he said and hobbled back to his desk.