Himalayan dinner.

Last evening I had supper with Kelly and some friends who are shortly leaving on a travel adventure.
We ate at a Nepalese Restaurant in Manuka called Himalaya.
The food was good and the service was slow, which gave me fair time to drink too much red wine and wind the conversation on to silly things and magic tricks, and old stories embellished.

Much later, after I had cleared a delicious plate of black lentil patties with sauteed spinach, mushroom, cumin roasted potato and coriander salsa, we walked across (and I had concentrate here, for the pathway seemed somehow much more bouncy than usual) to one of my favourite cafes for coffee and cake.

At the table next to us a group of three rose to leave, and then as their conversation re-combusted they just stood there at the table in animated discussion. My nosey ears squinted through the busy cafe but I could not make out what was going on here. The guy had his back to me, one of the girls was doing most of the talking. Her besotted gaze fixed forward towards the guy, was transected by a very angry stare of her friend who flapped her arms and cut into the conversation from time to time.
It was getting all juicy over there.

My brain began to ache from the logistical overload of parsing all this, whilst managing multiple inbound deliciousness of my chocolate brûlée, and the covert glimpses of the tightly clad waitresses floating in and out of my Sauvignon serenity.

A sharp kick in the shins from one of my companions to help re-orient my attention and inform me that my sensual wanderings may not have been quite as covert as I thought.
I think I would like some coffee please.