October 2026

We have a Geezer’s Club. Wilton Morley, Blake Casper, Dom Ols-something, and myself. We meet once or twice a week when we feel at a loose end and talk about life, former flames, and the pursuit of good novels. Recently we’ve been discussing Wilton Morley’s memoir: Middle Class Fantasies (available at all good Wilton Morley Houses near you).

The Geezer’s Club (Wilton would prefer I called it the Englishman’s Club so for that reason I won’t) meets at various Oxford Commons venues because we enjoy making Dom spend his hard earned shekels within the parent company wherever he can. Predalina is a favorite, as is The Stovall House of course, and.. yes, I suppose. Mad Dogs.

A few days ago after a Saturday breakfast, Sunday Roast and Monday lunch I had the Very Bright Idea that maybe we should be revolutionary on Monday night and you know, perhaps try one of Tampa’s other fine establishments? When I put this idea to The Geezers, you might have thought I had put ear wax in their cereal and screamed bottoms up. There was denial, dismay, backroom deals, and then a phone call.

“You’re not serious about going somewhere else?” Wilton said breathlessly.

“I’m deadly serious – why not?”

A negotiation ensued whereby our Theatre Producer mumbled something about Dom not being best pleased by the suggestion (a deflection, if not outright fib). Our American friend on the other hand displayed the pioneer spirit that makes this country so great and Thumbs’d Up the message on the text group. The Universal Modern Symbol for Yes. In fact, he also said Yes – and suggested 7pm.

It was settled, we were heading to Hyde Park Village to a steak house that Shall Not Be Named. Cue another phone call from the Theatre Producer:

“Is parking difficult?”

“Wilton, come to my house, and I’ll take you in my golf cart, you won’t even have to think about it”

He liked that, anything to be chauffeured around grandly.

6.45pm duly rolled around and in came the man, delighted at being driven 5 mins down the road in a curious four wheeled people mover that he’s only really seen on the television when he accidentally turned to a Golf tournament. Videos of the journey are available on demand, Septuagenarian Wonderment abounds.  It was then that the wheels started coming off the other proverbial wagon.

“Are all your party here?” said the polite hostess upon our arrival.

I absolutely despise that phrase in hospitality. Firstly, why does everyone need to be present to be seated, can Water Servers not function unless there isn’t an empty seat temporarily? Secondly, it’s such an empty use of the word Party.. almost as bad as “Are you Still Working On This?”… No, I’m certainly not working while I eat my roast beef – well I wasn’t, until you made it feel that way.

Anyway, Our Party was not here. Dom and Blake were nowhere to be seen. No matter, Wilton and I were enjoying the people watching. 5 mins passed and then 10. Panic ensued.

“He’s not coming, Dom” Wilton mumbled darkly. But he was wrong. Soon the Lanky figure appeared in the distance, moving his way towards us, scowling. It was Dom. Three Fourths of The Geezers accounted for, but that was not enough for our Hostess. She looked at me, judgingly. “Thankfully it’s not a date” I said sheepishly. She was not amused and wrote something down on her iPad. The humanity.

We waited patiently while Wilton exclaimed that Blake had arrived every few mins whenever a well-dressed khaki wearing Caucasian man appeared in the distance. Alas, they were not him, there was no sign. Then the phone rang.

“Where are you guys?” an impatient Blake.

“We’re here! Where are you?”

Turns out, he thought we were joking about our misadventure, and was safely ensconced in the Garden Room at Mad Dogs, civilly offered a seat despite His Party not being present, with Canine King (he of the Tartare fame).

Wilton and Dom could hardly contain their glee (I’m sure it was a fix), while I duly carted  His Majesty back to my house, victorious and glowing, and we hot footed it in a motorized four-wheeler to Mad Dogs. By the time we got there, the lights were down, the music was crooning and we couldn’t help but laugh. Well, they couldn’t. Our usual servers were around the usual crowds, we ordered the usual (Dom pretending not to order the salmon until he ordered the salmon), and the usual conversations took place. It was all very reassuring. I was reminded in that happy moment after my bangers and mash was finalized, why all roads lead to Mad Dogs.

Until Next Time, 

Omar