Having parked my cock horse (whatever that is) in the car
park and got myself settled, I enquired of the helpful receptionist as to the proximity
of the town centre, having never spent any time there myself.
She informed that we were indeed close to the town centre
and there are number of Chinese restaurants, kebab houses and Indian food
establishments, in fact the best place for a curry is just a short walk from
the front door.
Now, given that I hadn’t asked about the best place to get
junk food, and setting aside the fact that I’m sure her boss would be delighted
to know she was actively pushing potential customers out of the door to the
nearest curry house, I could only reach the conclusion that she had taken one
look at me and decided that all I was interested in was access to the nearest
and least healthy eating option. And fortunately the best Indian in town was
just a short waddle away, that even somebody of girth and rotundity could
manage without getting too out of breath.
How could she make such an assumption? Perhaps I had asked
the question because I was interested in getting to know more about this
historic Oxfordshire town, its place in English folklore and the cultural heart
beating within its ancient buildings? Just because I may look like I eat curries
and drink lager all the time, doesn’t mean it’s necessarily so.
Turns out the Indian take away probably is the cultural
centre of the town, but I could be doing it a disservice. A quick stroll
through the darkened shopping centre on a cold and darker January night probably
doesn’t do it justice.
Either way, I managed to avoid the lure of the numerous take
aways (she wasn’t wrong), and settled for a lamb tagine from the
less-than-extensive hotel menu. Which tasted a bit like a curry anyway.
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