I once had a meal, or should I say, it once had me

Think of everything you would normally associate with a greasy spoon cafe. Fried everything. Formica tabletops pretending to be tiled. Tatty wipe-clean menus. Questionable hygiene.

Now, throw out all the bad preconceptions and what's left is ...


... Norwegian Wood, Glen Fern Road, Bournemouth, which for some reason chooses to call itself a coffee lounge. I'm coining a new phrase: it's a greasy spoon without the grease. It's a grease-free spoon.

The food is cheap, plentiful and good. Apparently the Boy's father liked to eat there and I can see why. Yes, most of what's on offer is fried, but it's not swimming in fat; the place also does jacket potatoes and all that; and it even caters for veggies. Not that any of that had any bearing on my cheese and ham omelette with chips. Or my knickerbocker glory.

It's clean and pleasant inside; the staff are friendly; and instead of the fake formica it goes in for wood. Real, honest to God rough hewn wood (which sits strangely next to the plastic chairs).


In short, should you be passing through Bournemouth and feeling like a cheap and cheerful bite, this is the place.

As is hinted by the name of the place, they're into the Beatles ... The walls are lined with them. Photos. Pictures. Paintings. Paintings and pictures of photos. And so on. Also one, strangely, of David Bowie - I didn't ask why. Maybe he ate there.

End restaurant review, commence concluding thought.

Today would have been the Boy's father's birthday so were down in Bournemouth to view and sit ceremonially on his memorial bench at the crematorium, and conduct sundry other business. By "we" I mean me (the driver), Best Beloved and Ex Mother in Law in Law. The Boy decided he had had enough and stayed away ... which was disappointing for the others but to my surprise I told them I found I was on his side. He saw his dad's ashes being scattered and as far as he's concerned it's time to move on rather than revisit old scenes. As would I, I think. When my parents go - and given that they occasionally read this blog, I suppose this counts as due notice - I will pay attention to the proceedings up to and including scattering the ashes, but after that life will continue. If they want memorials, they'll need to provide instructions and an appropriate sum of money. I will also expect nothing more of my own bereaved when my turn comes.

Just so you know!