Sunday, December 6, 2015
A Lack of Papier Hygiénique
We've had another named storm -- this one Desmond, which blew in from the Irish sea over the last few days and flooded parts of Cumbria and Scotland. Once again, here in London we've only had high wind.
Apparently this year is the first that British storms have been systematically named, in a program that's supposed to raise public awareness about dangerous weather. Back in September, the government office in charge of such things asked the public to generate a list of names for winter wind storms that are deemed likely to cause significant damage. Somehow I missed Abigail and Barney, which have already come and gone. If we have a rough enough winter to get to the letter S, we'll have a storm Steve!
Yesterday turned into pretty much a full day of eating. After French class I went with my classmates and our teacher to a French restaurant in Marylebone. It was a nice little place, but the service was, shall we say, leisurely and we were there for about two hours -- plenty of time to work through virtually every conversation topic that could arise among seven people who barely know each other. We didn't force ourselves to speak French to each other -- probably to our teacher's annoyance -- but I did speak French with the waiter, and I told another staff member in French that the bathroom was out of toilet paper. So there's that.
Then, last night, Dave and I had our friends Gordon and Donna over. Dave spent the day cooking and we wound up with a four-course meal involving lamb shanks. (The original plan was pig's trotters stuffed with chicken and sweetbreads, but the butcher failed to debone the pig's trotters as Dave requested, so he had to make some last-minute menu changes.)
I think I'm going to eat super-light today. Like, maybe lettuce. Or All-Bran.
Finally, I have good news about the Great Harness Conflict. The dog boarder sent us the bill for boarding Olga over Thanksgiving, and it turns out she took the harness off the tab. Apparently my strongly-worded e-mail convinced her that she shouldn't charge us. I'm surprised she knuckled under, but I do think it's the right thing for her to do.
(Photo: A neighborhood restaurant in Child's Hill, near West Hampstead.)