Above: Gratuitous shot of Rupert the cat sitting in Dad’s drum kit. Roger, our newest kitty, is far too mercurial to be caught on film. He was named for Roger Waters, who wrote the lyrics for the song that I took the title from.
Tim and I went to my cousin’s 21st in Rotorua the weekend just been, and by the time we got home last night I was too tired to make anything other than spaghetti on toast. It is lovely to be home though (Wellington is home to me, but here in the country with my parents is home, if you know what I mean.) So, no pictures of what we have been eating, which is not to say we didn’t eat well on the weekend – the pub that the party was at provided us, among other things, with the singularly most incredible potato wedges I have ever had in my life.
The morning after we went to my aunty’s fantastic burger bar: Rapscallions, on Fenton Street (opposite the Police Station!) She opened it about two years ago, but this was the first time I have actually been in it, and I was seriously smitten with the place. We didn’t have any burgers because it wasn’t open yet (and thank goodness, as I was far too hungover) but we cooked up some bacon, eggs and hash browns and Charlie showed us their new addition – an enormous shiny espresso machine. Tim had a go making coffee too and noticed that, ahem, they had much nicer milk jugs than Starbucks has.
So, if you are ever in Rotorua, for goodness sake get thee to Rapscallions. Even in my unable-to-eat-anything state the burgers looked incredibly delicious – I would be the sort of annoying customer that would spend fifteen minutes bouncing between options, unable to choose what to eat because it all looks so good- not to mention the fact that you can get coffee of such quality that it will impress a guy from Starbucks.