Cod to finish

If you'd asked me what I was hoping to get out of dinner, I'd have described exactly what happened - an enormous amount of very good fish in a restaurant run continuously by two guys since 1970 which has a TRAIN in the logo, and in which they're still storming around in their wool vests.

I'd have said I hope it's filled with their Portugese Martin Scorsese lookalike mates, and women that have been there since day dot, still loyal to their Farrah Fawcett blowouts, giving each other shit and ruffling kids hair as they run past.

By the end of it I'd crinkled my eyes at half the restaurant, got a pastry and a glass of port on the house, and nodded goodbye to a few tables on my way out. I walked three minutes home, flopped down, poured a tiny glass of port, then slipped between the cool sheets of a bed wider than I am tall.

Perfect. Day.Читать далее