“No, sorry.” I said, wearily. “They told me they’re fully booked but could maybe squeeze us in at 9:30.”
This was the first day of the family holiday and the boyfriend and I thought we’d try our luck at the posh, white napkin, seafood restaurant for tomorrow, which was Saturday night. A very long shot I know.
About an hour or so later, the boyfriend’s Mum says,
“I just phoned that fish place on the harbour and booked a table for all twelve of us for tomorrow night at 7 o’clock.”
“The lying bastards,” mutters the boyfriend under his breath.
“Brilliant. Thanks.” I say.