I love lunch. Proper lunch, I mean, with cutlery. I like the food, too twiddly and delicious to make at home. I like the sparkling gossip. Weirdly, I like hearing my own voice. Such a nice change from the dark interior monologue droning away in my shrivelled pickled walnut of a brain. Lunch is the perfect antidote to self-employment's slow poison of gazing for hours at a dull white screen slowly filling up with drivel (see comments below).
Yeah, I love everything that lunch promises the formal box, the informal contents. The company. Seriously, is there a lovelier word in the English language than "companion"? Someone you break bread with, peace on Earth, goodwill all round and let's have a pudding. The sitting there like some pampered Lannister weakling while strong and attractive young people bring platefuls of crazy eats to your table. Most of all though, I like the drinking.
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