Pon had discovered that Tic was basically an uneducated and uncultured boy from the bush and saw it as her life’s ambition to ‘educate” him with cultural experiences.

What could be better than a good healthy dose of Shakespeare’s ‘A Mid Summer Night’s Dream’ at the Opera House. The whole idea oozed education and culture.

Tic was beside himself with excitement as he had not been to the Opera House and also fancied himself as a bit of a Shakespeare fan. He proudly owned a complete works of Shakespeare even though he had not read anything beyond their titles. But the text did look good on his bookshelf next to his copy of the Everyboys’ Cricket Almanac and an Illustrated History of The Kings and Queens of England.

Pon on the other hand was highly educated, in her past, there had been a prestigious girls’ school, University education, a Ph.D., and a distinguished teaching and professional career.

Using their pension travel cards they caught the 9.15 River Cat to Circular Quay and then began their short walk to the Opera House.

They decided it would be wise to eat before going to the theatre, as both had been guilty in the past of sitting in the audience and their rumbling tummies the source of ire to those sitting around them.

One thing the Quay was not short of was cafes. It was a smorgasbord of eateries. They stopped outside the Blue Barnacle Café, its catchy title “food to stick to your ribs”, catching their eye. They had plenty of time to order and share their scrambled eggs, washed down with well-made skinny flat whites.

Pon and Tic were avid people watchers and at that early hour, the Quay was alive with a steady stream of people heading past them in both directions. In front of them was a captivating scene of a large cruise ship towering over the harbour while smaller passenger ferries arrived and departed, in a constant stream.

Around them, more and more people arrived and were seated in the café.

The waitresses were busy delivering orders to various tables. People who had been seated well after them were receiving their meals while at the same time; Pon and Tic were feeling more and more agitated.

They waited and waited.

No coffee.

No scrambled eggs.

They mentioned their situation to a waitress who said she would check.

Eventually, two small dried, cold pieces of toast arrived.

Still, no eggs appeared.

Pon was growing, fidgety.

Her fingers began drumming on the table.

It was the twitch that alerted Tic.

He knew this behaviour.

Inside he began to brace himself.

Pon, still managing politeness, again asked the waitress.

She scurried off.

More people were served.

Tic squirmed in his seat.

He could sense his tummy beginning to rumble.

His blood sugars were dropping.

He casually mentioned to Pon that maybe they were meant to bring their own eggs, or maybe the chef was waiting for the chooks to lay a few.

Watches were checked.

It had been 60 minutes.

Tic asked the waitress again, seeing the look on his face and the ever-increasing scowl on Pon’s face, she rushed off to see what was going on.

Then to their relief, the waitress reappeared with their coffees, a plate of eggs, and a second plate.

They stared aghast at what they had been served.

The eggs were burnt.

Slapped together.

There was no character to them.

They were little more than clumps of egg.

They were tasteless, second rate and to make it worse COLD!! And on a paper plate!!

Driven by hunger they made the best of the situation but agreed the Blue Barnacle Café would be struck from their LIST!!

Finally, after their coffee helped to wash the taste away, Pon went to pay.

They wanted to charge for the extra plate.

It was outrageous!

Pon told them in no uncertain terms what she thought of their service and so-called scrambled eggs.

The waitress, somewhat taken aback agreed Pon should not be charged for the second plate.

It was a relief for them both to walk away and head towards the Opera House Drama Theatre.

The Blue Barnacle Café = 1/10.

They lived in hope that the next cafe would be an improvement.