Hurrah...Nigella is back on TV tonight. She, like everyone else it seems, has been in Italy. I baked a Nigella cake over the weekend, for a friends birthday, not Italian, but they'd just been. In the past 24 hours I've been mostly at Heathrow Airport actually going nowhere, with time to gaze up at departure boards fantasising, dreaming of better places than here. Italy would be good, but I'm destined to return back to Manchester and conclude this trip as an 'Epic Fail'.
Yesterday started much better. I actually ran somewhere. And when I say somewhere, the novelty here was running an A-B route, not an A-A. James had been out for Romance Night, as he calls it, with the current Mrs Eyre and left his car faraway. Our Sunday morning mission was to retrieve it. Cross country in places, sometimes a path, on one occasion not, finding ourselves in a place distinctly unwelcoming. Still, the theme of an A-B is that you have to get there...and it's not over until you do. Result!
