venta

Saturday saw spindlemere and I launching one of our Ambling Attacks on the nation's capital. I believe we had a vague plan to go to the Museum of London, but got distracted on the way. Instead we saw all manner of interesting other things.

( You went off swinging London )

( The Press Photographer's Year Exhibition @ The National Theatre )

On Sunday, ChrisC and I popped out for a wander round Spitalfields market (with fiercely complicated vegetarian salad wraps for lunch) before I headed home to tackle the ongoing Tidying of the Augean Bedroom. ( Spitalfields obviously knew I was coming ) We paused for a drink on the Barbican's waterside terrace, it was all terribly civilised.

Suddenly, there was a beating of wings overhead, a vague quacking, and London's most incontinent duck strafed the pair of us thoroughly. I'm unsure if this particular duck had some major disorder of the lower intestine, but the result was greenish, utterly foul-smelling and completely pervasive. It's difficult to walk through the Barbican with any degree of dignity when one has duck shite dripping down one's face (and hair, and clothes).

And after I went out of my way to be nice to ducks last week, as well. Ungrateful gits.

On Saturday I bought two loaves of bread, expecting to be making sandwiches for a large number of people. In the end, the number of people was slightly smaller and the required quantity of sandwiches smaller still (we'd eaten too much cake), and I had a lot of bread left.

Accordingly, when we set off on a jaunt on Sunday, I tucked a bag of crusts into my pocket. ( Just in case we found some ducks )

Tomorrow, I am going to take my bag of crusts to work. At lunchtime, come rain or shine, I shall slither out the back of the business park to the Kennet and Avon canal. I shall feed the birds there if I personally have to ram the stuff down their ungrateful feathery gizzards.

_{Yes thanks, I do know the correct plural of duck. I just don't like it.}