On Sunday I went for lunch in Primrose Hill and sat near someone from East Enders. I don't know if you know EastEnders. British soap opera. Terrible and yet great. Big excitement for me to eat roast poussin near this fellow:
Pure class and elegance.
During the drive up to Cambridge we got caught in the most horrible rainstorm of all time. Apocalyptic. Floods. Terror. We ate at Jamie's Italian and I drank prosecco and ate scallops and managed to fall asleep and dream that I was caught in a rain storm -- but the rain was GLASS. What kind of terrible dark things are hidden in my subconscious. It was the worst dream I have ever had in my life, ever, ever, ever.
Not quite recovered from our 24 hour hedonistic binge, but it involved Pimms. And punters. And waking up in a doorway. And judgement.