The answer to the previous post was Rhossili Bay on the Gower Peninsula in South Wales. But everywhere looks the same in my photos so it could have been anywhere on the British coast.
It's my sister's 40th birthday in a couple of months. She's been to The Ivy before and she wants to go again.
We don't want to go. Betty says Rod Stewart takes his daughters' boyfriends there and grills them (ouch!). If they like football they're acceptable.
I don't want to be in the same room as Rod Stewart. I've eaten in the same rooms as Roy Wood and Paul Shane. That's enough of the bright lights for me. Besides, those were bog standard curry houses where I felt at home. I wouldn't feel at home in The Ivy, tarted up in expensive new clothes and spending loadsamoney on sausage and mash or whatever shit they serve up.
I don't know what's wrong with our local Chinese. That's where we usually go. 40 isn't such a special number. Life begins at 40? Bollocks, does it! Nothing changes whatsoever. There are no landmark ages. 18, 21, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, 90, 100, 110, 120, 130, 140? Who gives a bollock?
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