Could It Possibly Be Summer

Just got back from Maida Vale, a particularly leafy and pretty part of town, full of young kids kicking footballs, mothers pushing their brood in designer push-chairs, and home of my journalism school. The air was thick and warm this evening - smelling of jasmine. Wonderful. It reminds me of my summers back in advertising; joining colleagues after work and drinking deliciously cold white wine alfresco, and getting into all sorts of trouble. Summers in London are hard to beat - warm, sultry, and a little hedonistic, and best of all, it's light until 10pm.I don't want to jinx it mind you, as I recall us having unnaturally good weather at the end of March and getting all excited about an early summer. No such luck. Earlier this week I wore five layers to work at Paul's place in Barnes. Five. He thinks I'm some kind of a freak, but it's been cold.Ate at the famous Le Caprice last night, The Ivy's sister restaurant. Very swish, in an old-school sort of way. I overheard a particularly posh old gent at the bar commenting that it reminded him of Anabbel's, which I have not had the pleasure of going to. Having read all about it in Lady Annabel Goldsmith's memoirs, I'm dying to, but unfortunately it's members-only, and what appears to be a very elite and closed set of members at that. Still, you never know, I'm not giving up on the prospect.But back to Le Caprice. Wonderful modern Euro-type food: Salads with quails eggs, fish cakes, foie gras, duck salad, rack of lamb etc. I started with the foie gras (hmmm), and had the squid and Italian bacon to follow. Unfortunately (and I was very surprised by this), the squid was terribly over-salted - this coming from someone who loves salt. In fact I have only stopped adding salt to my food without tasting it first (a terrible habit) since being fortunate enough to be taken to places where such gauche behavior is frowned upon. It really is a bad habit, not only insulting to the chef (be it the one at Gavroche, or your mother) but bad for your health.But I digress. This squid was so salty, I couldn't eat it, and can only think they had a mishap in the kitchen. It was however perfectly cooked. So, for the first time ever in a restaurant of this caliber, I sent my food back. It was returned about 15 or 20 minutes later perfectly salted, but slightly burnt tasting. I ate about half, and enjoyed the rocket and salsa it was served with.Robert's food was all good, I know this because I wasn't offered any to taste, although I shared my icecream with him, if only to look a little less greedy tucking into it with such relish. The dessert menu is very good and varied. Having eaten honeycomb icecream at Daphnes, I got a bit over-excited to see it on the menu at Caprice and promptly ordered it. I think it beat the one at Daphne's (which is divine), only because it was served with a delicious hot chocolate sauce. I salivate just thinking about it.The atmosphere in the restaurant was good - nothing trendy or noisy, and you can hear yourself think. It is quite posh so I wouldn't do the whole trashy but expensive look (barely there skirts or torn D&G jeans), but then again, I suppose they've entertained the likes of rock stars etc wearing worse.Would I go back - most definitely. Robert tends to go there for lunch on occasion and has never had a bad meal. I think I was just a bit unlucky with the squid the first time, and in their haste to get it back to me before Robert finished his mains, they burnt it a bit. A nice place to go if you want to eat and converse, though as they tend to be fully booked, you may find your booking has a finite end time attached to it.I saw my niece Lauren this weekend, who is now walking, and trying to run I believe. She is terribly cute and busy and likes to socialise with anyone her height. She is also parroting everything one says, so you do have to be a bit careful with the expletives.I am haunted by an episode of 'Blame The Parents', where a man told how his daughter's early words consisted of a few rather nasty four letter ones. His wife and him found it quite funny in a cute sort of way (yes, they did), to begin with, but as she got older saw these words not only stuck but she became adept at inventing ever more imaginative vulgarities. As a teenager on the programme she was rather an unpleasant and abusive little miss and entertained (if you could call it that) TV audiences with her dirty mouth. I do think there is something rather unpleasant and sinister hearing swear words coming out of a child's mouth, but perhaps I haven't spent enough time on the play grounds these days.Our new bathroom is coming along rather well. They have only the plumbing left to do, which includes fitting the shower, loo, and taps. I overheard the foreman telling the Polish tiler today, "You must clean up everything very well before you leave as the lady of the house is very fussy." It made me laugh. If only he had seen the state of our bedroom! To be fair, he is right - I am fussy when it comes to something that we are spending a lot of money on, and something which cannot be easily and inexpensively changed should we not like it. When they have finished the last bits I will go over everything with a fine tooth comb and have them touch up things here and there before we pay. It's worth doing, because once someone has cash in hand, you are hard pressed to get them back in to finish things up.I saw a disturbing piece about child marriages in some remote parts of India today, some of these little ones as young as four years old. There was a rather sad picture of a little girl and boy sitting next to each other in their wedding finery looking distinctly unhappy - they could not have been older than seven. The blurb said something about the groom's parents gain the girls dowry and what effectively amounts to a domestic servant, and the bride's parents lose the financial burden of another mouth to feed and support. For more on this click here.

Reference: lay-reports.blogspot.com