It’s steak Jim, but not as we know it

Cauliflower steak with fregola and cherry tomatoes. Preceded by a butternut squash salad and followed by a delicious orange rice brûlée. Washed down with IPA and a large Irish whisky. Excellent company in the shape of my old colleague Mr D who, like me, aspires to grow old disgracefully. We spoke of many things; he has visited the tomb of Jelaladin Rumi in Southern Turkey, which impressed me greatly. Similarly he was enthralled by my tale of visiting the Retired Indian Officers Mess on the 17th floor of a dilapidated tower block in Hong Kong three decades ago. We both love Canada and Istanbul and neither of us eats animals, and we share a fondness for annoying our superiors and shocking our juniors.

During the course of the meal I was contacted by all three of my children and TSM, but Mr D was forgiving, despite his aversion to modern communications. We reminisced fondly about the days of paper memos and slower worlds.

Then I got seriously soaked by the coldest rain I have ever known walking home. But a good evening despite that.