Caviar and Camping
Now Playing: Rachmaninov
Today I made my own Russkie blinis, and ate them with creme fraiche, caviar, rose petal harissa paste, smoked salmon and a big marinated olive and tomato salad. Turns out that once ensconsed in your stomach, fifteen blinis feels very much like three normal sized pancakes. Hom! (As we used to say back when we used to take the piss out of munching with too much in your mouth, Ken Hom and poofs in the same breath.)
I also had lunch on the roof at work, with a magnif view of most of London's skyline. The morning mist had cleared, and the horizon stretched from Elmstead Woods to Crystal Palace transmitter, to Canary Wharf, the London Eye and the Gherkin.
If anyone ever does see the view from the south east, can you tell me what the abnormally large tree is? The one that has looked for the past five years like an abnormally large Mr Staypuff man, waving? It's abnormally large.
Not bad for a Friday's feasting, and so I'm off to bed early, liberated from the horror of Sex and the City at last.
Up early tomorrow to drive to the New Forest for a weekend en famille. Ooo-er!