Did you read part 1?
Where are we now?
In the shade of the day, where the event of the evening meal takes up its usual position (front and center) and always awakens a new lease of life into 4 wearying minds.. To try and articulate the joy with which the evening meal is anticipated, talked over and relished would be an injustice to its effect. The conversation, by and by, follows an almost identical structure to the preceding evenings engagements, and the results of this conversation are almost always identical too, with a near resounding collective agreement that this meal, yes this one (eggy bread with satay sauce and avocado), is most definitely the best of the trip thus far.
I fear there’s only so much heraldry canned beets can take, said no-one ever, carrots and humous are overbought and overrated, said no-one ever, and blue birds sour cream and onion crisps don’t work well on a pasta bake, said no-one ever.
And for all the work and vigour that this two hour long impassioned cooking event requires, all end in the agreement that the world needs know of these wacko combinations of everyday ingredients – those which always seem a bad idea but will end, inevitably, with the best creations (of the trip so far). I should say though, that in spite of all these delightful culinary improprieties, the diadem of distinction still sits pretty on Choices 10 pack of chicken flavoured instant noodles. For 2 Nz dollars and 49 cents, I will forever argue their case!
Now, around the 9 o clock mark, when belly and mind are gratefully appeased, food conversation has dried down to the river bed and attention has thus turned to book or phone, there is one who’s mind is still succumbing to the power of the rinse..
Tom and the prince’s biscuits.
Tom and the raspberry dark chocolate.
Tom and the cookietime cookies.
He’s recently taken to naming these routinised encounters ‘Tomlins secret sugar meetings’, which are coincidentally becoming more and more frequent and less and less secret as the days go on.
Problem is, more often than not, the food is none his own… He has not yet noticed my stealy eye, but I’m inclined to reveal his utter delight in taking as many nuts as he possibly can from the depths of his brothers rinse bag, and believing with whole heart and naive soul that his misdeeds are relinquished entirely on account of his later admittance of them. The simple, sad fact is, that through unheeded slippage and unaccountability, habit and routine has here reared its ugly head and made a corrupt and greedy mess of this once (in my eyes) shining perpetrator of restraint.
But even this stint of gluttony comes to some end. And the latter, latter part of the day will consist some mix of music,
movies, naps, beers and zoots (recently retitled ‘the jeffries’) before finally committing a fond farewell to the eve and the day and packing ourselves off to another fine sleep in the back of the camper.
And there you have it! The blessed fruits of routine! Why o why should I have distrusted the thing for so long?! I feel cause to resent the hold of my preconceptions, and that my devil-may-care image of myself has injured such wondrous possibilities for so many years. I should say ofcourse that I’m aware this bliss is likely isolated from the routine that most folk know. Still though, the reflection has taught me a number of things; that allotting certain times of day for certain activities and indulgences can and will provide an added assurance of fulfilment, limitless freedom is no freedom at all, and (most contrarily to previous belief) that regularly selfset parameters can ensure a realm in which play and spontaneity can still be found – and in some cases, in ever more fruitful abundance.
If you did enjoy this post, consider following us for more poetry, musings and adventures.