Oct. 8th, 2016

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Haven't seen Elvis Diary since the wedding... Her opening rejoinder was a big smile added to the observation that I hadn't put on too much marriage fat yet.  'Bit here,' she observed,poking it, 'But that's  a winter thing. And bread. Bread's bloated me,' she added, patting her various areas of imagined puffiness. As far as she is concerned, you put on weight in winter and you lose it in summer.  It's a good system unless you spend half your life at dinner parties, or stuff your face with honey covered crumpets (my breakfast for the past week) in which case all bets are off.

Balans was as much fun as ever, though the kale with chilli and ginger was soggy. We noticed Owen Jones,the Labour pundit, sitting in a corner  agitatedly discussing something with his companion. Maybe it was the events of the last week, or maybe he was just  asserting his right to be served a drink despite looking about twelve years old. The place was full then empty then full again, people opposite us doing some kind of goth makeover on each other, two people merrily discussing a computer course they were going to be running in Pokhara for Nepalese kids,  an old couple sitting next to us . While my friend went to the loo, I observed the menu, and started quietly singing; a little vino beginning to affect my manners. The very old gentleman smiled at me and leaned across. 'Stay young,' he said, 'Never grow old.'

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