On Saturday I had lunch with Lauren in Tunbridge Wells, excuse me, Royal Tunbridge Wells. Back in the mists of time we were the original Ladies Who Lunch before Suzy joined us for restaurant visits and, finally, Helen. By then, our leisurely lunches had evolved into a culinary world tour through various restaurants, or picnics at each other’s houses.
Having been dropped off outside the station about 15 minutes before Lauren was due to arrive, it was not long before I had my first surreal moment of the day as someone dressed as a guardsman came out of the station, handed me a map of London and walked off down the street. Okaaay.
I shivered in the shade for a while and then went back into the station to look at the clock again. Only four minutes had passed, so I was going to need to find a way to wile away a few more minutes. I decided to count slowly to 100 in my head. I tripped up a few times in the 30s - numbers aren’t my thing - and once I reached 40, I decided to count in German. Things were going fairly well until I decided to speak to another girl who’d evidently arrived at the station too early. Having exchanged barely a sentence with her, I could no longer remember where I’d got to and the counting was thus abandoned.
Before long it was 12.09pm and Lauren’s train arrived. People came piling up the steps from the platform and an older woman greeted her two friends at the top of the stairs, causing a marvellous blockage in the traffic. After a few moments, Lauren came into view - and walked past me.
We walked down the High Street to the Pantiles, an old Georgian walkway, lined with interesting shops. There was a French market taking place, with stalls of fresh produce piled high. We’d barely stepped into the Pantiles when I felt my phone buzz in my bag. Suzy was letting me know that an Italian deli nearby sold delightful pain au chocolat and, were Lauren and I to buy some, we wouldn’t be disappointed and, were we to bring her one later, well that would be just fine too.
Lauren and I wandered around the market stalls and I was somewhat naïvely surprised to discover that the stalls were being manned by real French people. I’d assumed that the market was going to be “French”, but no, real French people had brought over their real French goods.
After buying nothing from the real French people, we went to Trevor Mottram, a fabulous cookware shop. When I first visited the shop a few years ago, it was like stepping into a shop in Harry Potter’s world. It’s a very old building, with wooden floors and is crammed so full of everything you could ever imagine needing, that you could wander around for ages and still not take everything in.
We then headed out of the Pantiles and up the hill to Carluccio’s for lunch. After a short wait, we were seated in the bright and airy restaurant. It was busy, but not too noisy. We ordered a basket of bread and a bowl of olives (must.eat.olives.) to chew on while I waited for my gnocchi with parmesan and tomato sauce and Lauren waited for her lasagne. For dessert I had a lemon tart and Lauren had a melon sorbet. I ate enough melon on holiday to see me through until Judgement Day. We talked and talked as usual and Lauren gave me some good advice. Now, let’s wait and see whether or not I can do it justice. My burning desire to add the word “sometime” to the end of that sentence is indicative of my usual cowardly apathy towards actually doing anything about something I want to change.
We’d been unable to find any pain au chocolat in the Pantiles, so after we’d paid Lauren bought Suzy a gooey chocolate thing while I went to use the facilities. I should write a guide book to disabled toilets. This one was pretty good. It was clean and bright, but its location in the corner of the restaurant made me highly conscious of the fact that should the door fly open of its own accord, I’d have been on display to an awful lot of people. Plus, was the bustle of the restaurant enough to cover the tinkling? The mirror was gorgeous, clean and huge, extending nearly to the floor. You’d be amazed how many disabled toilets have little face mirrors set way above head height (my head height being roughly equivalent to someone in a wheelchair). Once ensconced on the slightly high toilet, however, I discovered a drawback to the bright lighting and the big mirror. You’re suddenly accompanied in your weeing by your twin. And your twin seems to be showcasing quite a case of cellulite. Bitch.
Onward up the hill, we went to visit Suzy at work on her jewellery stall in the shopping centre. It turned out that we’d just missed her parents and Helen had stopped by a bit earlier too, so quite a day for visitors. Lauren handed over the wodge of chocolate goo and we perused the pretty jewellery. I bought a couple of bracelets and we signed up for the privilege club. I’m hoping there’s a secret handshake to go along with the pink voucher.
After a bit of a natter, Lauren and I went on our way, wandering in and out of shops, but not buying anything. I had a few bits to get in Boots and joined one of two long queues to pay. A third till then opened and I joined the new, much shorter queue. Big mistake. The till was being manned by a mousey-looking woman who seemed not to quite know what she was doing. The permanently open mouth should’ve been a clue, I suppose.
Five years later, the transaction was finally completed and we left the shop and wandered further. Lauren took me into Vision Express to try on glasses. I’m not meant to wear my contact lenses for more than 12 hours a day, so I still wear my glasses in the morning (they’re slipping down my nose as I type). My prescription has changed though and I need new glasses. I’ve always hated trying new frames with a burning passion. The biggest problem was being unable to see what the frames looked like once on because I’m as blind as a bat. However, that landmine can now be beautifully sidestepped when wearing contact lenses and suddenly trying on different frames was actually quite fun. I didn’t find any that were quite right, but I’m at least more willing to try again soon. It was, after all, mildly alarming being unable to read signs in the airport when I was wearing my glasses on travel days on holiday.

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