Friday Morning

Julian and Dorothy are going to America this afternoon for a week. I hear it is rather cold there, so hope they are taking plenty of warm things.

This week has been one of dietary indiscretions. I really must make more of an effort to eat less. I write this having consumed a ginger nut with my coffee. Oh dear. I am certainly dreading the scales of justice on Sunday morning. I am a born sinner.

With Romy to a charity meeting run by a bank yesterday at Canary Wharf. It was interesting to see a different view of the country's sorry financial situation, described rather graphically, and depressingly. We have a small investment and a bond which we may well increase next week.

Romy collected the newsletter which we sent out before leaving the office, so we shall expect some rapid responses requesting holidays and outings to land on our desks in the next week or so.

Instead of cooking this Sunday, Madeleine and I are sallying forth to Le Bouchon and hopefully, for a wander around Spitalfields Market. At college around there for five years I developed quite a sentimental attachment to the area. I remember our lengthy lunches at the Market Cafe, now sadly gone, seeing Gilbert and George and chatting with Dennis Severs.

Next Friday Kook is going to the vet for his annual jabs - which is always rather an ordeal. We shall see.