As I commence penning these observations, I am sitting outside my campervan on the periphery of the North Yorkshire seaside haven of Scarborough.
Situated within a pleasant camping park, the surrounding areas provide an aesthetically pleasing accompaniment to my literary toil.
I am unsure of the specific names of the rolling tree lined hills bestowing this easy on the eye landscape. However, I feel confident such pleasing views will inspire me during the prose’s construction.
As I write by the seat of my pants, as yet I have no inkling in what shape that notional influence will appear… But as cowardly sleuth Scooby Doo once taught us ‘Gooby snack, Raggy’.
Footnote – Some readers maybe at a loss as to the relevance of the Scooby Doo reference… However, I will let you into a little secret… I haven’t got a chuffing clue either!
While lovingly sculpting these words into something with (hopefully) a half decent end product, my camping table exhibits a breakfast smorgasbord of marmite on crumpets and coffee.
My crumpets are slightly overtoasted but the juxtapose of hard outside and softer breaded centre provides a surprisingly pleasing textural brew.
Even if it was inedible, though, I was chef of this overdone hash. Meaning this poorly presented petit dejeuner would have been a self-inflicted culinary flop. Consequently, I can hardly leave a scathing hatchet job review of TripAdvisor…
Actually, though, thinking about it, that might prove a fun writing exercise.
Now then, Gary, what would a patron’s breakfast review of your slack toasting skills look like on TripAdvisor?
Perhaps something like this: –
Stopped for breakfast at the Strachan campervan café on 5th July 2024. Greeted by the owner who tried to entertain me by juggling eggs as I mulled over my menu selection… As he dropped his only three eggs mid-trick, it was lucky I didn’t want any of the menu’s egg based options.
The views of the rolling North Yorkshire hills table side were pleasant enough. And the establishments facilities included a toilet tent, a rarity in these smaller campsite eateries. Equally as rare was the sign of ‘No Pooping, Only Peeing’ which adorned the lavatory tent door.
For breakfast I chose Home Grown Yorkshire crumpets, enveloped in dairy ghee and vegemite jus. The pretentious title for marmite on a toasted muffin did not put me off the meal… But, by God, the dish served to my table did.
What appeared afore me was the most singed piece of English food since Alfred the King of Wessex famously burnt a peasant woman’s cakes in 878 AD.
Admittedly, when taking my order Mr Strachan asked if I wanted my crumpets medium, rare, or well-done, I stated a preference for the well-done option. However, instead of the slightly burnt bakery product I expected, what was presented was a gravity defying pile of black ash… God only knows how Mr Strachan managed to spread marmite onto this post-pyre mess without it collapsing in a heap on the plate.
When I broached this with the café proprietor, Mr Strachan posited defensively “Well you did ask for it well-done!”
Leading to my terse retort of “Well, yes, I did. But that isn’t well-done, I’d say it is very badly done!!”… Adding “That looks like the remains of the briquettes in my barbecue grill after I’d cooked last night’s tea!”
Consequently, it is fair to say that the owner’s questionable customer service skills, and even more abject culinary skillset, mean I’ll be uninclined to patronise his establishment in the future… Well, not unless I am really bursting for a piss!!
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