Lunch with Blackbird

I spent yesterday agonising...
Where should I take bb for lunch in London??
She is smart and funny -
would she love the gilt chairs in The Ritz??


I want her to tell me everything
about life in Tuvalu
So we could be sitting a while -
perhaps Gordon's Wine Bar would be more suitable.


She loves food and wine
and so do I
so I could take her to Clarkes.


On the other hand it needs to be near the shops
because she is passionate about clothes
so what about Le Meridien high above Piccadilly??


It must be PERFECT
because I want to tempt her to stop over
next time she goes to Italy.

Any suggestions gratefully received.

Ottolenghi

I have been too busy

to think much about Heaven recently

but I realise now that the lunch buffet

will look something like this:

I will sit at a long white table

in a comfortable white chair

(with plenty of room for my large white wings)

and when the waitress angel comes to take my order

I will say

"Oh...just the beef
with a stuffed pepper and the couscous salad"

and she will say

"Would you like a selection of breads?"

and I will adjust my long white flowing robe and say

"Oh...yes PLEASE!!"

The advantage of this Ottotlenghi branch

will be the unlimited ability to eat cake.

There are no calories in Heaven.

It is almost worth being good.

In fact, I think I might turn over a new leaf today.

*****

Of course, any meal in any restaurant

is only as fun as the company that you sit with.

I was lucky enough to be with Ali and Kristina

who are the best company you could wish for.

Kristina was taking us to Loop and she had 15% off

so really, we were just building up our strength...

This post is written for Dell, a gifted teacher, who loves Ottolenghi too.

between fear and freedom

black, black, the crow above me,
sliding and swirling over the gasping air;
stretched feathers on sweeping wings,
impenetrable shadow against the travertine sky.

I know this bird of the morning
who flies on the black, black wing;
I turn my face towards him
and with fierce courage, I do not blink.

here in the heart of the wind I face him
trapped between fear and freedom.

Shopping with MrM

MrM is not into Retail Therapy.

His birthday treat to me was to walk around the shops of Dublin

and attempt to look interested.

He smiled wanly when shown shoes

and agreed in a mystified way that

Thinning Hair Must be Miserable.

I really appreciated this

because he would normally bite off his right arm

rather than waste time looking at clothes.

He was doing it because he wanted me to be happy.

I realised that he was a bit out of his depth

in the Kitchen Department of Brown Thomas

when he said in awed tones

"What IS it?"

(It's an ironing board, MrM)

So we hurried along to a nearby bookshop

for Rest and Recuperation.

And then checked out the opportunities

for buying keyrings with grass in.

MrM was impressed.

When he had recovered from the stresses
of the modern Retail Environment
we went to The Silver Shop in the Powerscourt Centre
to choose my birthday present.

Luckily, I saw what I wanted immediately.

Thank you MrM
xxx

Putting A Foot In It

Breadbox has admitted to playing the trombone
which reminded me of an unfortunate event at a school concert.

MissM went to a Junior School

where music was taken very seriously
and the concerts were large and impressive.
One teacher, who was an inspiring trombone player,
had gathered together a group of young protégés.
At this particular Gala Concert
there were six trombonists on stage
and the youngest was a talented 9 year old.

There was a hush and they started the complex piece of music.

The youngest was also the smallest
and as he lowered the trombone
it got irretrievably tangled up in his shoelaces.

There was a horrified murmur in the hall

He was a quick witted lad
and realised that in order to play the trombone
he could either bend over
or
lift up his foot
when the slide went up.

He decided to lift up his foot in time to the music.
The teacher and the other five trombonists

were absorbed in their music
but the audience were gripped with a horrified fascination
as this little boy played on
with his shoe and foot firmly attached to the trombone slide.

And then somebody in the front row began to laugh
in that strangulated, choking, infectious way
and before long the whole audience was consumed.
I can still remember feeling quite ill with suppressed laughter.

The Head of Music looked up from the Piano
and saw what had happened
and rushed onto the stage and knelt there
untying the shoelace from the trombone.

And all the time
the other five trombonists

and the talented teacher played on.

They are a hardy lot, trombonists.

The Road Home

I love driving through London at night.

It doesn't happen very often because we use the train

but on Wednesday night I was with a friend

whose husband plays for the orchestra.

We drove in through the rush hour traffic

and back late at night after the concert.

Our route took us across Westminster Bridge

through Parliament Square

down the Mall

past Buckingham Palace

and then out through Knightsbridge.

London is not a city of regular grid lines like New York

and if you are with somebody who knows the route well

it feels like a fairground ride.

The car weaves around the complex road systems,

through the mass of black cabs

and the glittering shop fronts

and you feel quite breathless with the beauty of it.

It is very difficult to take photos

because there is the reflection of the car window,

the fact that you are driving at 40mph

and trying to make conversation at the same time.

My friends couldn't understand

why I would want to take photos at all

I rarely take pictures in public.

I said that I had a friend in Australia

who wanted to see where I had been

so Mary, Tracey and Kirsten...

these are for you.

Profound Thoughts on Reincarnation

While listening to
Symphony 7 in C, OP. 60 'Leningrad'
by Dmitri Shostakovich
played by London Philharmonic Orchestra
conducted by Vladimir Jurowski
in the Royal Festival Hall.

1. If reincarnated as a Conductor I too will wear a black Nehru jacket and have my hair like Dante Gabriel Rossetti.


2. If reincarnated as a Pianist I will not have asymmetric panels of sateen in my tail coat or a diamante belt buckle.


3. If reincarnated as a Harpist I will definitely have a harp with an embellished gold post; I will not make do with plain wood.


4. If reincarnated as a Violinist I will wear boat neck or square neck. I will cover my arms at all times. I will NOT wear V neck.


5. If reincarnated as a Cellist I will not wear trousers that look like net curtains.


6. If reincarnated as a Double Bass player I will try the white hair, moustache and beard look - it seems quite sophisticated.


7. If reincarnated as a Percussionist I will be a Cymbals player because there is a lot of sitting around and then a big, dramatic flourish.


8. If reincarnated as a Brass Player (I will try to be good so this does not happen) please don't make me a Trumpet player because their cheeks puff out and they go bright red. It is not a good look.


9. If reincarnated as myself I hope that I have better concentration


10. If reincarnated as a person with a deep appreciation of Classical Music I will not say in a loud voice in the Corporate Bar "Of course the first time that I heard the Previn I was amazed....but the Ashkenazy - well, he was trying to recreate all that Shostakovich had taught him..."

Avoca

Dear Ladies,

Do Not Die until you have been to Avoca

I am going to try to give you a glimpse

of this Retail Heaven

but there is one small problem...

You are NOT ALLOWED to take photographs

and there is a VERY SCARY security guard.

So I will have to be creative

to give you the full Avoca experience.

After admiring the eye watering window display

you wander into an explosion of colour,

scarves, throws and shawls artfully displayed

on distressed French dressers and hat stands.

Which scarf to choose?

The agony!

The ectasy!

of being surrounded

by so many beautiful colours...

The green and grey wins - after much deliberation.

And then upstairs to the children's department

Who could resist the fairy dresses?

The kindly shop assistant

let me take a photograph for my little girl...

Up another flight of stairs to the friendliest of cafes

and delicious Roast Parsnip and Apple soup.

And then back down the creaky stairs,

all the way to the basement,

where the lucky people of Dublin

queue for their handmade bread

and Broccoli, Feta Cheese and Cherry Tomato salad.

The Smoked Chicken and Brie baguette

with Rocket and Roast Tomato chutney

did not survive long enough to be photographed

But the famous Fruit Scones did.

This post is dedicated to Kristina

without whose recommendation it would not have happened.

Kristina, a bottle of the infamous Salad Dressing awaits you...

Sunday in Dublin

What is there to do on a sunny Sunday in Dublin?

You can stroll along endless Georgian terraces

and admire the front doors.

You can take in a free art exhibition

and find a sunny spot in St. Stephen's Green.

The world goes by if you stand still and watch.

Lunch could be Wild Mushroom Bruschetta in a friendly cafe;

and how about an afternoon in the National Gallery,
among Irish heroes,

then you could follow the Grand Canal back to your hotel.

Of course, there are lots of other things that you could do

But that is what we did.

A Birthday Treat

MrM is whisking me away to Dublin
for the weekend.
We will be eating in our favourite restaurant

Roly's Bistro

Here is the menu

Who is having a starter?

I'm buying the champagne

because it is my birthday

and I want to treat you all.

One of the best things about the past year

has been the wonderful friendship

that I have found here.

Thank you.