The Golden Girls

Start the day in the garden with my new boyfriend Buster and a cup of Continental coffee.

It’s all just lovely. Rowan and Matt ask me if I’d like to go for a walk with the dogs. That would be nice, but I really should send texts to everyone to share what will be my mobile number while I’m here. Despite paying close attention when friends on the island showed me how to change the sim card on my phone (and doing so successfully once), swapping sims at the airport had defeated me. Luckily Rowan managed to do it in five seconds.

Off they go with the dogs. I do a bulk text to everyone I’ll be seeing. Oh, what’s this? Some have gone through, others haven’t. Why not? Perhaps there is a limit to the number of people to whom you can send one text? Try doing it in batches. Nope. What the fuck? Give up and wait until Rowan and Matt return. “What’s the deal?” I ask her. She explains to me (because of course I don’t know this) that the blue ones have gone through because they are to people who also have iPhones and the message has gone via wifi. The green ones, which haven’t gone through, are supposed to go through my network provider. It seems my unlimited calls and texts UK card is a dud. Thank god for Rowan, who sorted out Three for me. I would have lost my shit and mind in the effort. Send texts to all the green numbers, then decide to go for a walk.

It’s a good thing I realise as I walk up and down Deptford High Street, that I don’t need to use public call boxes. Of the three that used to be there, one is now a rip off ATM, one is a nice little book exchange.

 And the third, with non-functioning phone, is clearly used as a public urinal.

The plan this evening is to see Irmani for dinner and some drinks. And when I say “drinks” I mean some pints of proper bitter. We meet at the Albert, where I do indeed have my first proper pint in more than four years.

Unfortunately the kitchen at the Albert is closed, forcing us to head off in search of another pub with real ale. Arrive at New Cross House which, it turns out, only has craft beers. (Honestly, stupid young people and their craze for flowery beer.) We are about to leave when we’re told a pub quiz is about to start. Okay, that could be fun. I could put up with craft beer for that.

We stay and somehow, with a score of 29 out of 50, the “Golden Girls” win. This win is a testament to the lack of general knowledge of the rest of the largely much younger other patrons. Our prize? A £50 pub gift certificate which we will use for another get together before I leave.