Weather still terrible. Cold.

Yesterday daughter, Anna, had her wisdom teeth removed under a general anaesthetic. She came out with packs in her mouth. The nurses who wheeled her back to her room told us that she was the first person to talk nonstop with packs in their mouth and still make sense. That’s Anna. She was so funny when she was still groggy – insisting that she needed to text her friends and watch TV, even though she was incapable of doing both.

The doctor said she would be on soft food for a bit.

I recently talked about our trip to Paris, in February 1990, when I had insomnia. Exceptional food is now served in many a top London restaurant now days. That wasn’t the case when I first moved to London. Paris, however, had exceptional food back then. The pastries were delectable. I had never eaten croissants and pain chocolate. Heavenly!  And the sauces on the meat … had never had Béarnaise sauce on the meat cooked by Stan the Man, my Dad, on the barbie.

It was a trial learning to cook in London in the first days of married life. The ingredients didn’t seem to translate to my Aussie Sheila brain. It was a learning curve. I had to learn to cook three course meals for dinner parties. Kitchen supper parties were different. They were cosy, relaxed affairs. For dinner parties you need to set the table in the correct fashion, the right order of cutlery and glasses.

Ghislaine, one of the three titled Honourables in my life, was a whizz kid at throwing dinner parties in her London home, before she and Peter moved to an ancestral home in Scotland. She had her father’s enormous dining table, which he had used as his desk whilst serving as a Member of Parliament.  Dinner parties were late. You were asked for 8.30 for 9pm, meaning that you must arrive no later than 8.50pm. Then drinks in the drawing room. Dinner was usually at around 9.30pm, and as I said, three courses: a starter, main and pudding (what Sloanes call desert, even if it isn’t a fruity cake). 

I had to adapt to this new way of eating. Aussies usually eat no later than 7pm. You’re done and dusted by 10pm. Also Aussies serve cheese and fruit before dinner, with drinks.

Having said all that, formal dining, was fun. It was not just eating a meal that took a lot of trouble to cook: it was the art of conversation; banter; talking to the opposite sex whilst hopefully looking your best in all your finery and relaxing.

The formal dinner party has somewhat declined over the years, but for some, it is still a fixture in the calendar. Eating out has become more popular?

Today I will try and make sure that Anna swallows the right pills so that she is comfortable.