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I went to Upminster for the first time in about 12 years tonight. It’s traditional that every Good Friday we all get together for dinner in a restaurant of a different nationality. Having exhausted Chinese and Indian years ago, we spent last Good Friday eating Polish food, and tonight munching Greek.

Loads of it. We could have managed with about a third of what was delivered, but it tasted fantastic. Trout with almonds for me, and a year’s supply of brocolli. Mark slipped off the vegetarian bandwagon again, which seems to happen every time I go out with him, and he happily ate his way through an enormous mousakka, in much the same way as he’ll forget about his ethical diet every time there’s duck on the menu.

Fortunately I could tuck in without any feelings of guilt having spent all afternoon walking around the fields with my camera, although by the time I stood up from the table I could feel my legs getting tight, and I suspect that by tomorrow they’ll be quite achey, which is not a good thing: I’ve signed up for an 11.6 mile walk on the South Downs, so I suspect I’ll be bed-ridden by Saturday night.

Upminster hadn’t changed, though, and the long wiggly road between there and Brentwood that takes you past the slaughter house where the national foot and mouth outbreak apparently started felt as familiar as it would have done if I’d driven down it just last week. There was a time, back in my teens, that I diligently drove that path every day, particularly when I was working at Link FM and it was the shortest route between there and home.

This entry was posted on Friday, April 14th, 2006 at 11:12 pm and is filed under Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.