23.23 is not a time to stop working of an evening. I'm all wound up like a spring, and I'm incredibly hungry, so am having to do a late night dart to the shops to find something both low fat and filling. Realistically this means a bowl of soup. Still, it's a lovely evening. The air is throbbing with rich aromas; the smell of garlic from the pizza shop next door, the dark scent of exhaust fumes from the Archway Road, a hint of Chinese restaurant, a whiff of rain...
My sense of smell is really very keen at the moment. There's almost constantly something wafting through my nostrils! The honey-like scent of buddleja is something I seem to be able to discern from a thousand paces, and there's a Lily-like smell which drifts into the kitchen every morning. I'm not usually good with smells. Perhaps I'm turning epileptic?
I went to Camden Market this afternoon to see if I could find Nathan a little something extra for his 40th on Monday. I haven't been down there for years and I couldn't believe how buzzy and full it was. It's definitely not a place to visit either with something specific in mind or if you're in a hurry. The place is teaming to the Pat Rafters with East Asian tourists carrying the most enormous back packs, whose only task it would appear is to suddenly stop and create enormous pile-ups and terrible traffic jams. The place had me running for the hills!
Just before I left, I saw a sign for a little pizza stand which advertised that it's products were made with "real tomatoes." Real tomatoes on a pizza? Whatever next?! Am I being dim? Aren't all pizzas made with real tomatoes.