To those who responded to my domestic dilemma post, thank you. The outcome of my cooking experience was: pasta with chicken in alfredo/pesto sauce. That's right, I am an amazing chef. David and I were quite pleased. Only it was made much more complicated by the lack on dishes in my flat (why, you may ask? because thanks to flatmates everything in our kitchen is in the sink- no joke.), also the pot I put the pasta in was smaller than it should have been.
I remembered something I meant to talk about a few days ago:
Sunday night, a friend of mine was performing in a comedy group in a hotel on the West End, (London's Broadway), so we trouped out to see it. Because he gave us the wrong time, we ended up being "the Americans who were late." The Emcee had a teased us mercilessly all night. "We're gonna talk about vegetables now, for you Americans, that's the thing in your hamburger when you take out the meat and the bread..." and so forth.
Then World War II comes up. Someone calls out, "You Americans, always late for your wars!" And my friend Ian banters back, "Well, we saved your asses." ... There is a slight pause in the conversation, long enough though that I take that moment flight attendants refer to for checking for the nearest exit. Then an old man in back pipes up, "Yes, but now you're the first ones to start them, and you're always fucking them up." True enough. We all laugh, and the show goes on. Still, it's always interesting discussing politics.