Fickle Creatures

I’m back at the Curtain’s Up pub in West Kensington. A group of us is about to enter the quiz that we won last week. Being a returning champion carries with it a huge amount of pressure and an intoxicating desire to cheat! Still, we have wine gums, mini eggs and our winnings from last week, so life is good.

I’ve just returned from Canary Wharf, where my parents and I were given the first tour of the flat my brother’s just purchased with his partner, Sascha. It’s a beautiful pad, with incredible views of the Dome, and they have wonderful plans for it. I’m very jealous, and plainly in the wrong career! We had a lovely Italian meal for lunch, care of Jamie Oliver (the franchise, not the person - if I were name dropping, I’d be a lot less subtle!) I also brought some new headphones. I had become rather attached to the eccentric foamy boats I'd been wearing on my ears for the last few weeks but I showed them to my Mum and she said; “good lord, don’t you feel embarrassed wearing them?” and I had to acknowledge that maybe I did.

Pepys was also in Kensington today, resting whilst on his way to Twickenham. This information comes care of a long, involved and somewhat busy diary entry, which includes a great amount of politics; detailed accounts of a Coffee House debate about the efficiency of the Roman government and news of more MPs being flung out of Parliament, one of whom was immediately dispatched to the tower. On a more personal level, there also seemed to be some intrigue involving Mrs Jem, and one Mr Moore, who I can only assume was the former’s suitor, because he seemed to be very melancholic following “some unkindness from her after so great expressions of love.” Poor Mr Moore. These 17th Century women were such fickle creatures!