1. We had dinner yesterday with the pensioners club the in-laws help run. One of the group had recommended a town centre Italian restaurant that was doing a Christmas menu. Oh dear! The food had all been bought in ready-prepared- probably from somewhere like Costco- and the service, though friendly, was grindingly slow. There is very little pleasure in sitting on a hard chair for two hours waiting for pap to appear. I'm in a charitable mood and willing to believe the restaurant does a nifty pizza- and was flying way beyond its comfort zone with turkey and sprouts- but I've no intention of ever going back there to find out. I felt a little embarrassed for the management- and sorry for the old folk whose big Christmas outing they were fucking up.
2. The heavyweight cake is edible- very moist- and its replacement- topped with frosting and walnuts has been delivered.
3. I'm enjoying Andrew Graham Dixon's series on Russian art. It turns out we Westerners have been overlooking some very interesting 19th century Russian painters. Mikhail Vrubel, for instance. Here's his picture of Pan.