one more sleep…
And a final sign off (for a few days at least) since I’m now home, in no small part to thank those who have emailed to state their approval of my response to Rhoda Grant published last Saturday but also to wish everybody a very Merry Christmas and especially those who made last week lots of fun!
A fine time was had by all (particularly me) and between very plush hotels and their breakfasts, lots of lovely gentleman company and mince pies aplenty even the foul weather pretty much morning, noon and night for a week didn’t spoil a thing – yay! This could have been something to do with the fact that said company took up most of my time from eight in the morning until six or seven in the evening daily, and bar a late drink with Charlotte MySecretLife after everybody’s busy week put paid to anything more time consuming, it wasn’t until my Saturday catch up with (the former) Kinky La Rue, comprising Yo Sushi and a trip to Borough Market to buy pork pies (plus stinky cheese and posh bread, as well as a trolley dash in Konditor and Cook where I bought what turned out to be nowhere near enough cinnamon stars as well discovering a new favourite in the salted-caramel-heaven, but slightly unfortunately named, Fudgepacker brownie – cor) that even a tiny amount of proper me-time was afforded at all.
The early part of the week saw a new destination and a couple of days camping out in the Square Mile, and I have now learned more about odd street names and even odder architecture than I probably ever needed to know, having spent a morning getting repeatedly lost amongst both while looking for LloydsTSB (and how many branches of Pret A Manger and their unutterably foul excuse for a Flat White do they need, ffs?) Fortunately, that very Monday was the only day the rain held off; I strolled all the way up to St Pauls, finally got my bearings, and came back (via Cheapside, Poultry, Fish Street Hill and Pudding Lane, where – and I remembered from school – the Great Fire of London started). Would that a handful of Prets could have been in it’s path.
The remainder of the week from Waterloo has passed in something of a blur, but suffice to say I was home, pork pies in hand and suitcase replete with laundry, empty travel-wash bottles and enough purloined breakfast bits to get me through most of the next week by ten o’clock on Saturday night. That part of the next week, that is, which will be playing out in Belfast, Cork and Dublin – I will be sallying forth this Thursday morning after a brief Christmas break, leftovers in hand (or rather in luggage) and still in festive mood! Anybody wishing to book will know my phone is resolutely off until the day itself, but I’m never too far from the BlackBerry and emails, as ever, will be fine. It’s worth reminding local folk that I am planning time off in January, so exactly when incalls will be resumed in Scarborough I don’t honestly know yet, but whilst I may not be available in person I’ll still be here to keep everybody posted, and you’ll be the first to know…
So for the time being, the baking is done, the veg is peeled, the fishes are patiently awaiting their annual turkey and sprouts and the TV guide is carefully opened to the correct page and placed on the arm of the settee under the twinkly lights. A calm and tranquil couple of days awaits, and I’ll see everybody on the other side (or possibly at the footy on Boxing Day).
Merry Christmas to all!
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