Christmas Lunch With Dad.

It started at 6:30 AM, ringing every taxi service in St Ives yet nobody was picking up. Apparently nobody works in Cornwall on a Sunday..what type of place is this?

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The task is to be in London for Christmas lunch with Dad, for this to happen I had to be on the 8:30am train- not fun with a hangover and even less fun when waking your mum up to drive you to the station.

She drove whilst cursing my arrogant London self – I sat there cursing her stupid local taxi service, who don’t drive when I demand it.

Both equally cursing that Dad’s lunch better be good.

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I caught the train and began my 6 hour journey- there is plenty of ways to be entertained…not.

About 5 hours and 50 minuets into it, I get a FaceTimed the menu from my Brother, he says ‘I may have to miss out on starters’

to which I replied (calmly):


I told them my order as we pulled into Paddington and the race was on.

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Running to the underground, punching people out of the way and cramming onto the Bakerloo line. By this time I was that Londoner the rest of the world is scared of. 


After a lot of glaring, shoving, running, tutting I was at Bank Station. Thankfully the restaurant Coq d’Argent was a small walk, up the lift, bursting through the doors to reveal a smart restaurant

(as in they were not appreciating my bobble hat and the tube B.O) 

Anyway I made my way to the  family and the  starters just been laid down.

Mission completed.


Now let’s start the meal, I was sat with my brother Jack.

Jack was the mastermind behind this meal as when I mentioned to Dad I may not make it as I was in Cornwall he told me I was ruining Christmas..hence the epic journey. 

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Jack doesn’t talk much normally nor smile but today he was particularly miserable as he had been clubbing till six…

Next to Jack was Alfie, Alfie is Dad’s-Pam’s -Emma’s- Son. I never socialise with the younger generation- but all I found is there not a lot of difference to Alfie to a fully grown man except he was better dressed then the rest of the table.

It was great as we could entertain a Harry Hill joke book which he knew all the answers to- he swore he never read it but I still don’t believe him.

Meanwhile Jack was not in the mood for the Harry Hill joke book. 

Dad and Pam were on top form, they were jetting off to Abu Dhabi on Tuesday where they will be served on by a butler then onto Bangkok.  Emma and I gritted our teeth at their happiness. We both can relate that our parents having a better social life then us.


Anyway I haven’t mentioned anything about Coq d’Argent, except how I wasn’t dressed for it. Food and service was incredible we were ordering wine by the plenty (this is a meal with dad after all)  the food looked a little like this…


Not only this but they have a secret ski loft rooftop bar


this is the Ol’ Eric himself modelling the fluffy blankets.

Now what makes a christmas lunch different from a normal lunch?

Presents of course

I gave Jack his present hoping to make him smile but he didn’t seem to appreciate the potato gun and the paratrooper parachute toy.


Next was Pam she loves buddhas so finding a buddha scented candle seemed to be the best idea but as she unraveled her tiny candle I casted my eye over the pile she brought me and felt guilt.

Presents are awkward for us brits, we just simply can’t do it.

Our well thought out presents we give, comes with a thousand apologies.

Every present we receive, comes with guilt of to which we apologise.

The meal came to a close and we all stumbled back to Borough Market for a few more. Chris met with us and the night ended with me and him trying to do that photo trick with Big Ben…


and failing miserably.

Stay tuned for Christmas Lunch Part II- Mum.

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