The garden centre alternative

Today there were two events in Farnham. One was the big Christmas Lights Switch On which took over Gostrey Meadow. The other was a ceramic fair called Art in Clay which was at the Maltings. We’ve never bothered with the lights thing but were quite looking forward to going to the ceramic fair. And I can only blame myself for not suggesting we walk rather than take the car.

Lots of people clearly had the same idea. The streets heading into town and around the one-way system were full to overflowing – I can only assume that’s why people insisted on parking on the footpath.

Another arse

(To be fair, that was much earlier in the day and, as far as I could see, not necessary at all.)

We tried the Waggon Yard car park and joined the seemingly constant merry-go-round of other slowly moving cars also looking out for the one elusive spot that just didn’t exist. I suggested we try the Hart and so we set off for Waitrose. The main car park was chockas so we headed up to the overflow.

I’m fairly certain I’ve never been to the Hart overflow but from what I’ve seen, it’s generally pretty empty. Not today it wasn’t. Again, it was chockas. Mirinda decided that was enough driving around pointlessly so we headed back out of town.

On the way home Mirinda suggested we go to the garden centre instead.

The only peaceful bit of the garden centre

Anyone who knows me will know how I feel about trips to the garden centre at the best of times. November 16 is not ‘the best of times.’

Many people could probably describe in vivid detail their own personal visions of hell. Mine is a garden centre close to Christmas.

Old people, very young people, just people…if I was trodden on or jostled once I was trodden on or jostled a thousand times. I felt like a llama, frozen in the middle of the Serengeti during the wildebeest mass migration. My situation was not helped by the over filled and therefore unpredictable shopping trolley.

It was not pleasant. I’m sure I’ll get flashbacks everytime I heard a squeaking trolley now.

Back at home I started preparations for my moussaka. Apparently this is one of Mirinda’s favourite meals at Chez Gaz. As I’ve mentioned a few times previously, it takes four hours but, once complete, it is delicious. Beyond delicious.

We teemed it with a bottle of 1990 margaux which surpassed all expectations for taste, bouquet and everything that’s holy in the world of wine. Wine Guy Mike had told me that 1990 was a golden year for grapes in France and, by the gods, he was right! It went down extremely well.

Actually the whole meal was thoroughly enjoyed by us both given the food, the wine, the hygge, the candles and the conversation. Camp fire hours are the best at Chez Gaz.

Mmmmmm moussaka
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