Radishes and Samphire

Top Gun stuck his head round the door at 5am to say that the trains were screwed and he had to be in Guildford for six to meet friends to go off on a week's holiday in Normandy. So I bravely downed a mug of tea and got into the car in my pyjamas. What the car was doing in my pyjamas I have no idea, but at least it was a nice sunny morning.

Then took a slow journey to see Aged P (slow because the trains were screwed) stopping at the Blackbird Bakery in Herne Hill for sourdough supplies. And maybe a small quiche. And maybe a bakewell slice and a coffee. And maybe the handles on my carrier bags broke and I had to go and buy something stronger from a hardware shop.

Aged P was fine. So were her carers who greeted me with loud yells and smiley greetings, then told me that Aged P was angry with me as I had been naughty that morning. That's dementia for you.

In Blackfriars, on my journey home, I heard a tourist say he was looking for a busty whore. That made me stop and eavesdrop unti I realised he was with his family and looking for The Old Bus tour. Wars have started on smaller misunderstandings.

When I got home I cleaned the bedroom and made pan fried sea bream with radishes and samphire. I have never cooked radishes before and thought of the Roman emperor Augustus who said "a radish may know no Greek but I do". Samphire I have eaten many times and love but think it has a Nordic God like quality to it: "and Odin did rain samphire down upon his enemies" or some such.

Now I am going to bed to have surreal dreams. Except the sheets are still in the tumble drier.

Sh-