Beef Wellington

It’s 10.10.10. and the sun has been shining all day, which will no doubt thrill the hundreds of couples who’ve been scrambling to get married on this palindromic date. The leaves are turning brown on the trees and the air was ripe with something that looked like pollen. It might have been dust or little bits of leaf but it looked incredible, glinting in the sunshine like a never ending shower of fairy dust.


We dedicated the day to relaxation. I woke up at 11am and immediately nodded off again, dreaming that actress Sara Kestelman had died her head bright red!

We had lunch with Fiona at the Woodman pub opposite our house. I had a vegetarian “wellington” but randomly went up to the bar and requested the beef wellington. I’m not sure why the word “beef” fell out of my mouth, but if it weren’t for Nathan intervening, I might have ended up with something ghastly. There was much laughter when he pointed out that I was a card carrying veggie. The bar woman suggested that it was my sub-conscious craving meat...

On the subject of vegetarianism, I was thrilled to discover today that Scott Maslan, that Eastenders-actor-cum-Strictly-Come-Dancing-contestant is also a life-long herbivore. A less likely vegetarian I’ve never seen.

After lunch, we went for a stroll; through Highgate Woods, up into Muswell Hill, down to Crouch End, and back up the hill to Highgate. It was extremely pleasant. Fiona talked about the mayhem of US green cards. It seems it’s next to impossible for a working woman to marry a Yank without her life being put on hold for a ridiculous amount of time whilst the red tape is being trawled through. This process can take up to a year, during which time the new bride is not allowed to either leave, or work in the country that she’s adopting; absolute nonsense if you have a career that’s dependent on travel, or based in the country you’re leaving. I wholeheartedly believe that if the borders were opened between the US and the UK, neither country would find itself with any extra citizens after all those who want to relocate have relocated...

We’re now sitting in a laundrette waiting for clothes to dry. Our tumble drier broke a couple of months ago and neither of us have had the time or the money to have it repaired, so instead we find the time and money to sit in a laundrette watching our clothes flying around in a giant industrial drier being burnt to a crisp. Nowt so queer as folk...

10.10.(16)60 was a Wednesday, and Pepys spent the afternoon with his upholsterer, making sure his soft furnishings and walls were being properly covered. Pepys’ new bezzie mate, Mr Moore the lawyer, dropped by to discuss the gossip du jour; the trials of those who’d signed Charles the 1st’s death warrant, or at least the ones who hadn’t already wheedled their way out of punishment by paying large sums of money or by disappearing into the country. They were referred to as “barbarous regicides” often by people who could best be described as turn coats. It shouldn’t be forgotten that the likes of Monck and Sandwich, who were on the bench baying for their blood, had made excellent little Puritans in their time...