Why Am I Telling You This?

Actually I know the answer.  The subject of Eccles cakes came up when Dave and I were having coffee in the Woodlands the other day.  Despite not being a great fan of raisins, and Eccles cakes are full of raisins, I love Eccles cakes. (I’ll actually eat almost anything except tripe even if it’s not something I’d actually choose to eat).  The family loved them too.  When I was a small child there was near us at The Rocket (about which Scriptor has blogged if I can find it)  a bakery called, locally even if it wasn’t its proper name, Up The Steps.  I went in there one day to get some things for Mum and asked, not for Eccles cakes as they were properly called but for fly cemeteries which was what they were called by the family.  I was promptly asked to leave.  I presume I was allowed back at a later date.  I don’t really remember.

The only other time that I can ever recall being thrown out of anywhere was being thrown out of Snows, a quite smart down the steps bar in London’s Piccadilly.  That was in the sixties and I was just in my 20s.  Given that I was much older then than I am now (mentally anyway) I was mortified.  I was, I hasten to add, stone cold sober at the time of this incident.  I was in London on a training course for something or other and we had finished for the day and gone to Snows.  Someone learned that I could Cossack dance and probably dared me to do one on a table - I was quite adept at winning bets that I wouldn’t do something.  So I took my shoes off and did a Cossack dance on a table – a very substantial table I should add.  I was asked to leave.   I was mortified.  I can’t understand why but everyone else thought it was very funny!