Robert Carey, aged eight
Part 2 of a short story series about the young Robert Carey - and in case you don't already have it, you can get part 1 as well, A Pest of a Boy.
I may have to give in and go see a quack about my left arm, which annoys me. I might skip that and just go straight to hospital for an x-ray. Blast and damn.
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Breakfast yesterday was wonderful – I had the full works at Brown\’s Café in the covered market in Oxford. When it was George\’s caff I went there every morning before my Finals for full English plus black pudding and that may well have made the difference between the Second I got and the Third I richly deserved.
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The first time I went to the Wadham canteen for breakfast in my third year, the staff refused to serve me because they\’d never seen me before. Once I\’d convinced them I\’d been a member of college for more than two years, I wished I hadn\’t. The breakfast was horrible and the coffee a noisome grey concoction that I suspect had been boiling since the night before.
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Hence George\’s, now Brown\’s. I didn\’t dare try the Wadham breakfast this time round, but I\’m sure it\’s better. It could hardly be worse.