Tuesday night's Toronto houseguest was a pleasure to see again so soon. We failed to make the hot chocolate soufflé recipe we'd both been eyeing in my first copy of Olive magazine, but otherwise succeeded in eating all the right meals, and they were good. She also taught me a handy trick for boiling eggs.
Did you know there are two ticket halls at Clapham Junction train station? Neither did we. We also learned that being on time is overrated. haggisthesecond and I were quite prompt for meeting each other on Wednesday for dinner and walked a good fifteen minutes in the wrong direction from the restaurant where we were due to meet easterbunny before finding our first street number and realizing the error of our ways. Nevertheless, easterbunny, who thought she was running late, was more-or-less on time and kept us from sacrificing our reservation. We ate a full and pleasant meal at the Battersea branch of Little Bay, accompanied by distractingly-familiar opera singers, difficult-to-pronounce wine, and thoughtful discussions on international language differences from our well-travelled waiter. The little stilton-pear tart side dish was my favorite edible. The evening flew by.
Today is an ongoing bout of franticness, with suitcases, laundry, packing, writing, pictures, and measuring cups. By midnight, I'll be in Toronto. I have a schedule to keep.