We may have survived...despite predictions to the contrary

We're late a day on the blog... blaming Jen for no particular reason.

Friday night we had a lovely dinner at La Taverna.  Excellent Italian cuisine at Doug and Marge's favorite restaurant.  Marge loves the Zabaglione ... a custardy wine based desert.  Jen wasn't as much of a fan.  Surprising given it sounds like the desert of the wino.

 On Saturday we became members of the National Trust.  We now can visit the 300 or so properties run by the British government.  We hit the first of these Saturday.

Jen will have to fill in where we were.  I have no idea.... 

 Cool, old house though.  They decorated it for Christmas.  The one negative was that because they are preservationists, they keep the shades drawn and lighting at a minimum.  That way the  period decor remains pristine.  Unfortunately, it also remains barely visible.

It reminded me of when Felix Unger kept the plastic covering on all his furniture to preserve it.

 Jen had to keep reminding Doug not to steal.  He thought that our membership in the National Trust meant we could take anything he wanted.  I think it's the sign of his advanced age that the thing he wanted most was some old fasteners you stick in a stack of paper to bind them.  It reminded him of his childhood.  We wiped the dribble off of his chin and sat him in front of the pretty pictures.

 At night it was dinner with the Boss and his wife. Doug and Marge were amusing themselves coming up with ways that Jen would kill my career with her inappropriateness.  They had loads of fun at my expense.
 The Boss and his wife entertained us at his home and their five boys waited on us.  They fetched drinks, filled up the pretzel basket and made engaging small talk.  The kids were funny and bright and the future leaders of the free world.

At the restaurant the bloke below made an ass of himself.  He sat next to our table and derided Americans.  He was hammered.  He like my jacket, though.  His good taste fighting through his intoxication.  He had to try it on.  Of course, it makes me look like a child standing next to him.  A fat, bald child.

Jen, my tart of a wife, had a bit of a crush on this slug.

I don't think the boss was as amused by our friend as we were.  I'll have to apologize today and hope that was the only misstep we made in an evening filled with land mines.