weekender 03

I know it’s a good day when the sun is shining brightly when I wake up at 10am; and when I jump out of bed and into a tumbler of gin&tonic at the Southwark Tavern after traipsing around Borough Market before the clock strikes 12noon.

The days are short. Carpe diem. Get as much drink down your gullet before the sun goes down.

These are the things I wish I had had the money to have bought at the market:
- apple&plum custard tartcake
- a whole wild seabass
- a kilogram of langoustines
- bunches of vegetables
- a cut of steak
- oak smoked herring and mackerel
- lime tree / marsala honey

But this is what I really actually spent my money on: an okay only latte from a greasy caff on the perimeters of the market.

And then to the Southwark Tavern we went for lots of drinks and calamari strips while waiting for W, a friend I see maybe only once or twice a year, to turn up. As the draught blew its way in, we retreated into the bowels (really, basement cellar) of said Tavern for lunch of sirloin steak ciabatta (me) and wedges with sautéed mushrooms and cheddar cheese (M) and sausages&mash with roast onion and gravy (W).

Lots of talking talking talking and wondering what we (he, W) wanted to do with his life, about travelling and Spanish, and Mexico Germany and Asia. Racism and being poitically correct bollocks and class and innate prejudices. And also about music and art and silly/scary/beautiful films that we'd recently seen or want to see.

Oh, and also about illegitimate relatives turning up 26 years after the fact and getting reintegrated into the family.

It was all so very very good.

Now that I’ve had such an exciting and inebriated day, all I can really do for the moment is the laundry and the vacuuming. And after this, sink down back into bed and read the Saturday papers and watch crappy teevee.

Have you had a nice day today?