Saturday 24th August 2024

I have an admission: this weekend is my birthday. Which is why I took Friday off, and on Saturday Jools took me to that London for a birthday surprise.

We were up early again, driving down to Priory Gate to park so we could catch the quarter to eight train. And she had gathered a picnic, so we had ham rolls, a fruit dessert, sushi and a half bottle of proper champagne.

She brought a table cloth, glasses and napkins too. So, once the train pulled out of the station we ate, while the other passengers tried to ignore the high time we were having.

By now Jools had told me what the surprise was: I was going to attend a pasta making class.

Which sounded great.

So, at St Pancras we spit up and I took Thameslink one stop to Farringdon.

The paperwork said the academy was opposite the entrance to the Elizabeth Line station at Farringdon, but as it turned out, not WHICH entrance it was.

But thanks to Google Maps I found the way, walking round the outside of Old Spitalfields Market in the pouring rain until rounding a corner, I could see the façade of the academy.

I was early, so I went to a nearby coffee shop, and had a fine americano until it was time to get floury.

There was nine of us, there to make 100g of pasta, make it, by hand into shapes, and then cook it and finally eat it with some ragu they had made.

There was a small plate of antipasti to ease us in, and unlimited Prosecco to oil the fingers, as it were.

And, it came out fine, and so the machine at home might not get used any more, but we shall see.

Jools was waiting once we had finished, and our next call was the other side of Farringdon. We had planned to go to St Barts the Great, which was just back a couple of hundred yards, but the rain kept hammering down.

We walked on, and I saw that a barbers had an empty chair, so went in and was quickly shorn. Part of which involved some burning cotton used to sear ears to remove the fuzz.

Quite an experience.

We caught a taxi the two miles across the borough, dropping us outside the Mail Museum, but we had an hour. So, we visited the shop and had another coffee.

Our ticket was for Rail Mail, the mini underground system that used to move mailbags across the city, now turned into a tourist attraction.

We had a ticket for two, and being foolish thought that that time slot meant something.

Oh no, there was a 45 minute wait, among the screaming children and angry parents. A combination of the 18,000 steps on Friday and the stairs in the cathedral, and walking the hard streets of London, we decided to go home instead.

We caught a bus the three stops to King's Cross, and walking round the outside of the station to St Pancras, we had a 50 minute wait, so Jools bought us a frappe to sip.

Time passed..

Our train came in, so we piled on, slumping into our seats, shattered, and damp from the rain.

On the journey back home, I keep track of the football scores. Man Utd concede in the 96th minute to lose at Brighton, but Norwich only draw 1-1 with Sheffield Utd.

Jools went out for a chippy tea to save cooking, and so the end of another great but tiring day.